Work Text:
When the glaze lilies begin to bloom at the start of night, Guizhong is in their midst.
You think she blossoms, too.
With footsteps as delicate as stardust, Guizhong dances among fluorescent petals, and as your breath catches in your throat at the sheer vision, you swallow your words; what few you had dissolved in wake of the fragile moment. Only sheer muscle memory keeps dexterous fingers plucking away at your zither, and you cannot look away, not even if you try—how could you possibly, when Guizhong continues to flit around, fleeting as a meteor streaking across the sky?
“She will hurt herself one day,” Cloud Retainer muses, standing a few paces away. It draws you out of your daze, shaken from a waking dream. “Do you not agree, Streetward Rambler? Why she insists on dancing without footwear, I will never know.”
“I suppose we may never find out,” you merely remark with a light chuckle. “Guizhong has always been a mystery.”
Your hands meander to the final notes of your song, and upon the tune’s end, Guizhong happily spins around on her tiptoes.
She waves at you, and instinctively, you straighten in place, your hand raises to wave back. It's unfairly easy, really—how your mouth curves upwards as Guizhong takes her time wading through her favorite blossoms, a soft whisper of goodnight on her lips as if she were comforting children.
Despite all of the sights you have seen, despite all of the sunrises and sunsets you have bore witness to, despite all of the centuries that pass as the years tick by like seconds, Guizhong never fails to steal the air from your lungs.
“There is that smile again.”
You stiffen, chancing a wary glance at the crane-like woman.
“And what is that supposed to mean, Cloud Retainer?”
“Nothing.” A scoff, a swish of a long, black ponytail; the raise of her glasses. “One simply noticed that familiar dumbstruck expression creeping across your features again. The expression that only appears when regarding matters of a certain Guizhong.”
You narrow your eyes. “I have no such thing—”
“And to think, the two of you had been arguing over the legitimacy of that Cleansing Bell of hers just last weekend. One should have known you could never bring yourself to—”
“One better not bring that sentence to its conclusion.”
“What sentence?” Guizhong asks innocently, peaking over your shoulder. “What are we talking about?”
She stands on the tips of her toes, lightly gripping your bicep, cradling your arm close. The moment a smile is flashed your way, all irritation dissipates in an instant. Guizhong has always been unreasonably talented at that—forever a soothing balm in your pricklier moments.
“Nothing you need to worry about,” you say smoothly, sliding your zither over one shoulder and swiftly twisting your body to hide the way Cloud Retainer rolls her eyes. “Cloud Retainer was simply speaking nonsense.”
The corner of Guizhong’s mouth quirks up, mischief sparkling in her eyes.
“What kind of nonsense?”
You beckon her close and lean in, smirking.
“I believe,” you whisper dramatically into her ear, “she’s trying to steal your Cleansing Bell from Morax.”
Guizhong gasps, dramatically squeezing you. “Not my Cleansing Bell!”
“You are both children.” There is an amused sigh from behind you. “One simply arrived to advise you both to hurry back soon. Marchosius will be bringing out the dessert, and we all know how Sea Gazer likes to take generous portions.”
And with that, Cloud Retainer turns on her heel, striding off to where your fellow adepti continue to drink and chatter around Guizhong’s stone table—merry at the banquet you and Guizhong had stolen away from earlier, your zither clenched in one hand, Guizhong’s fingers intertwined within the other.
A warm, summer night breeze lazily prances across the Giuli Plains in Cloud Retainer's wake, and suddenly, you are all too aware of your close proximity to the smaller woman in front of you.
Something in your chest stutters.
“Well,” you murmur, straightening up to sheepishly cough into a fist, “that went well.”
Guizhong hides a giggle behind one of her long, white sleeves. You catch a glimmer of the starry ether within her robes, within the twinkle of her eyes.
“Do you really think Sea Gazer will eat all the dessert?”
“Don’t worry,” you reassure her, “I asked Marchosius to save us a portion.”
Guizhong beams. “Then we can take our time!”
She says this as if time is a luxury, as if your walk back to her residence won't be just another small pebble in the flowing river of time. And time is a concept for mortals, you used to think. But you like this about Guizhong—out of your circle of acquaintances, it has always been yourself and Guizhong who chose to mingle among mortals the most. It is Guizhong who understands why you choose to sing amongst them and let yourself be influenced by them, just a little bit.
You ponder all of this to yourself as you lead her back towards the modest dirt road nearby, lined by a simple, low stone wall. At some point, one of you had reached out and slotted your hands together. Or perhaps no one had reached first—perhaps your fingers had drifted closer, pulled by some force, magnetic or other.
Guizhong would insist on a red string of fate if you asked—yet another mortal construction. One that you particularly enjoy.
Just the thought of it brings a smile to your face.
"What are you smiling about?"
"Oh, nothing in particular."
"Aw, tell me!"
"Just a thought for the future I had that made me happy," you concede, just a bit. Because despite any prior disagreements, you've never been one to deny Guizhong like this. "I'll tell you one day."
"The future," Guizhong repeats, marveling at your use of the word. She grins. "I did not know you thought of such things."
"Well, unfortunately," you sigh, theatrical like the performances you'd witnessed from the local troupe, "continuous interaction with humans seems to have that effect on me. Now my head is full of extraneous things."
"It's alright," Guizhong singsongs. With your help, she hops up onto the stone wall, continuing to traipse forward across the raised partition under your watchful eye. "My head is full of extraneous things as well!"
You click your tongue. "Cloud Retainer would call us foolish.”
“Then we can be fools together!” Guizhong cheers, jumping in place, the patter of her feet against stone. Another breeze wanders by, Guizhong’s starry sleeves picked up by the gust, and you are quick to reach out, on the alert to keep her steady.
“Careful,” you caution. “You could fall.”
“Oh, you are ever such a worrier, my dearest Streetward Rambler! I am not even that high up.” Guizhong winks, and you fight back the urge to avoid her gaze as you feel the pounding in your chest suddenly spike. “But I always appreciate the concern from my greatest friend and rival.”
Is it normal for rivals to feel this way about the other? you wonder. Do rivals hold hands and take their time together on the road home?
You choose not to dwell on that too deeply.
“Why do you traverse without footwear?” You voice out loud instead, arms still poised outward, ready to lunge forward yet again should the situation call for it. Cloud Retainer’s voice echoes through your head— she will hurt herself one day.
But upon hearing the question, Guizhong hums, ceasing in her motion. She rocks back and forth contemplatively, tapping the tips of her toes against the stone wall, deep in thought.
“Why else?” The other adeptus woman finally asks, giggling. “I wish to feel the earth beneath my feet with every step I take. Because I adore this world and all its inhabitants, and I want to feel its heartbeat when I dance.”
“You are nonsensical,” you reply instantly with more bite than you had initially intended. There is a pounding in your chest, because Guizhong has always had this hold over you—her words are like magic, an incantation that frightens and awes you all the same. “Borderline illogical.”
“Perhaps,” Guizhong chirps, laughing lightly. She is used to your fangs, your sharper edges. She laughs at the sight of them. “But as a musician, you should know better than anyone that some feelings simply lack logic. There is already so much we cannot explain about our world, about Teyvat. Is my nonsensical existence truly that significant?”
Of course it is. To me, you have always been.
“You are a god, Guizhong. Your people worship you as such.”
“And shouldn’t a god have the freedom to remain barefoot?” Guizhong’s eyes twinkle mischievously. “I am the God of Dust, Streetward Rambler. A bit of dirt on my own feet is nothing.”
“You could still get hurt.”
“Perhaps,” Guizhong repeats, good-natured as always. A sly smile gets covered by one adorably oversized sleeve. “But I also have you to catch me.”
You cannot help yourself—with a sharp inhale, your jaw clenches.
"What if…" Suddenly, your mouth feels unusually dry, a Sumeru desert. "What if I cannot? What if one day, I am too late?"
Guizhong merely shakes her head, smiling wordlessly, and then she is laughing again, hopping off of the stone wall and sinking into the warmth of your waiting embrace. It has always been easy for you to fall together like this, with Guizhong's shorter stature easily slotting against your own taller frame, and the smaller woman hums, now enveloped in safe warms and pressing an ear over your racing heartbeat, giggling at what she finds.
"Then if such a day comes," Guizhong whispers, her quiet words coated in promises from the stars, "it will probably be my time to return to the earth anyway."
Immediately, selfishly, you tighten your embrace.
"How could you say that?" You find yourself asking harshly. "Why would you—"
"Do you not get it, my dearest Ping?" Guizhong says, closing her eyes as her lips caress over your beloved nickname—bestowed up on you by Guizhong herself, of course. And she says the single syllable like such a precious thing, like a treasure, a salvation. More than you deserve, always more than you deserve. "You are it for me. I will never meet another like you, such a wonderful fit for my soul. And if I were to leave this realm of life before you, then I can still say I lived a satisfying life; that I lived well." Guizhong pauses, then slowly tips her head up to meet your gaze with a small smile. "It was never just about the music. Not when I have always been vying for the musician."
"Oh," you whisper.
"Oh," Guizhong repeats teasingly.
It is hard to look at her like this—perfect, precious Guizhong, whose youthful eyes hold more wisdom than in a thousand scrolls. Centuries of war and conflict, seasons of loss and pain, and yet her small figure remains unwavering, still full to the brim of ideas and hope and affection.
Guizhong adores this mortal world of impermanence, and it frightens you terribly, because pain does not cease. Peace does not last. At any moment, a war could break out, and Celestia – that damned place – could call you to arms once again. The fact that you still pick up your polearm every day, continuing to train despite your centuries of experience only showcases your painful awareness of this fact.
You can never be too prepared for war, and it hurts. Guizhong, and her brilliant, brilliant mind should not have to spend time perfecting her ballista. Not when she could be dancing among flowers, composing music, singing to her glaze lilies over the sound of your faithful zither.
And yet she continues to continue forward, step by step, her bare feet pattering along the earth, nonetheless.
"Sometimes," you murmur, combing a hand through Guizhong's hair, "I do not understand you. And yet, I still feel as though you know me best."
"I am a conundrum but you still understand me," Guizhong replies seriously, puffing out a cheek. "And you are a wonderful puzzle for me to solve." She pauses. Then— "Me, and only me."
That startles a bout of laughter out of you, and Guizhong huffs indignantly, burying her face against your shoulder. She hits you with a long sleeve of her clothing.
"Don't laugh!"
"My apologies," you say with a final residual giggle, and you press the imprint of your grin against the crown of her head. "And to think, they say I have the most gall among our allies. You are very adorable, Guizhong."
Flushing, Guizhong pointedly looks away.
"Morax told me that if I wanted you to be around more, that I had to be more assertive," she mumbles, pawing at the silk of your garb not unlike a cat. Then she groans. "I felt like such a fool! I am a god, and yet it is so hard to… to—"
Guizhong's mouth opens and closes, and you watch in amusement as she struggles to find the words. Finally, she gives up, tipping her head back and groaning again.
"This is too difficult!" she whines, the tips of her ears now a startling red, and it is endearing because Guizhong has always been the embodiment of everything good; of stardust and glaze lilies and music underneath a celestial sky. "I never should have listened to him! Forget I said anything!"
Chuckling to yourself, you bend down just a little, just enough to press your forehead against hers.
"Guizhong," you say with a chuckle. Briefly, you think about the mortals you'd seen on your travels—of the young men and women who had worked up the courage to compliment your visage while visiting the various villages. "I doubt your divinity has anything to do with what you are trying to accomplish."
"You are right," Guizhong says with a sigh. "Truthfully, love is a startlingly mortal concept. And yet, for all my time immersing myself within my people, I still do not entirely understand it."
"But you want to," you surmise.
"I want a word to attach these feelings to," she replies.
"Perhaps our long lives make our experiences a bit different from those of regular mortals." Humming to yourself, you slowly begin rocking the both of you back and forth—a dance you had once witnessed during your travels. Something simple, a way to relish in your close contact. "Among us adepti, I have noticed that we feel much less urgency. ‘There will always be more days,’ we tell ourselves. ‘There will always be more time.’"
"But will there be?" Guizhong inquires, stretching up with effort to loop her arms around your shoulders.
"Who is to say?" You wonder, heaving a deep breath. "Despite our naturally longer lifespans, we are not infallible."
The look in Guizhong's eyes softens. "You understand me. You always understand me best."
Yes, but it is not myself I worry about.
"We should not dwell too deeply on such things," you finally say, brushing your nose against hers. Resolved, you stare into the deep pools of Guizhong's blue eyes, hoping she finds comfort in your own gaze. "I am right here, and you are as well. I do not know what the future holds, but I know that happiness is within music, and music happens when I am with you."
A smile blossoms across Guizhong's lips, and she eagerly raises higher on her tiptoes.
"Do you suppose that counts as 'love'?" she asks you, innocent and lovely and everything, everything, everything— Guizhong could tear down your world with the intention of recreating it from the dust of the earth and stars, and you would simply let her.
"Who cares?" Your own smile widens with the glaze lilies blooming beneath the moonlight, and Guizhong licks her lips, her small tongue darting out for only a brief moment. The split-second sight sets you ablaze. "'Love' was a word that was given meaning by mortals. Therefore, just like the music we play, I believe it is only fitting if we give it our own meaning as well."
"I could not have said it better myself," Guizhong breathes, warm against your own lips, her soul pulsing in time with your own.
And finally, finally, you dip your head and claim her mouth as yours.
…
You remember her every single day. It is especially easy to do so—she had been one with the earth itself after all, embedding her hopes and dreams and love into the very bedrock beneath Liyue. Millennia later and she is still everywhere, in everything you do, and so you remember her every day.
But you remember her especially during Lantern Rite, as you sit near your glaze lilies, the flowers gently swaying as a soft breeze drifts by.
"If only you could see this place right now, Guizhong," you whisper, your older, less dexterous fingers strumming the final notes off your zither as music from Dvorak's orchestra swells to a climax beyond your tune. "Our beloved Liyue Harbor, the seed you planted, has blossomed into something truly beautiful. And I… I am still here, a gardener for your legacy." You allow yourself a quiet laugh. "For just a bit longer."
"Master?" Little Yaoyao touches your arm gently, bright eyes wide with worry. "Are you alright? You're crying…"
"Ah, is that so?"
Procuring a handkerchief from your pocket, you wipe haphazardly at your eyes with a chuckle. Your fingers are sore—prior to tonight’s performance, it had been a while since you had strummed your zither properly. Your prior calluses have faded from all that time away, nothing but a memory from a different era, and yet it occurs to you right then, how much you have missed your dearest instrument.
Perhaps you should play it more.
You voice such a thing aloud, and Ganyu, Yanfei, and Yaoyao seem to brighten.
“Oh, that would be wonderful, Ping! You sounded so beautiful playing with the orchestra!”
“I’ve heard stories about your music from the other adepti, Granny!”
“Will you teach me too, Master? I want to learn to play as well as you!”
“Do you suppose this counts as ‘love,’ too?”
Your eyes widen.
You spin around—
The glaze lilies have bloomed beneath lantern light and fireworks.
And so you laugh, because for a moment, you are younger, and there is a beautiful girl on your arm with the sky in her eyes, the heavens in her mind, the whole world in her own laughter.
“Yes,” you say with a smile to the stardust, the celestial ether, lit up with the wishes and hopes of their mortal world. “Yes, I do believe it does.”
End.