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The lantern rite is a human festival, but it doesn’t go unenjoyed by adepti either. They don’t perceive time in the same manner as the people they share Liyue with. A singular lunar year is a blink of time, and the adepti who have lived to see the rise of humanity in Teyvat know that time is a constant forward momentum that pushes both groups together. Rex Lapis treks on with time, not fighting against it. He gave himself a new name, Zhongli, and a new reputation. He does not hate human life. He enjoys being able to do the same things he did before, like appreciating food and wine, and art without the peering eyes of everyone else asking for his judgement. Well, they still do, but his opinion if a wine is not aged enough is merely a matter of taste rather than an absolute final discernment. Although he struggles to look at his hands and call them human. Like how humans mourn, Rex Lapis grieves those who he has slain in the archon wars, gods he did not know who had died, and of course, those who had wrapped themselves gently around his archaic, rock solid heart.
He owes his human life to Guizhong and simultaneously Hu Tao. Guizhong taught him that there is beauty in humanity, and humans are creatures worth protecting and nurturing. He understands that now in his new life with Director Hu, his work as Rex Lapis allowed the Hu’s to flourish into 77 generations and bring the two of them together. Hu Tao teaches him the nuances and complexities of human interaction, and her eccentric personality is like taking a master class in how to be a person. He’s humbled and grateful that he’s come into the position he’s in now, where he can comfortably observe Liyue instead of working his human form in mines.
Zhongli doesn’t mean to hide precious details behind contracts, but sometimes he knows certain truths are better left untold. The reasons for separating from his gnosis are lengthy, but the grief from being Rex Lapis is like swimming in an endless sea of misery. Many storytellers forgo the detail that Liyue Harbour is founded in the memory of the god of dust, nor do they know the tale of Azhdaha as Rex Lapis’ close comrade until forcibly sealed away by the groundbreaker himself?
To belong as Rex Lapis was difficult, because Liyue is a flourishing home to him as it is a gravesite and battlefield. But as Zhongli, the person can have a place to return to a ‘home’ in the human sense, a building with a roof and running water. The Parlour exists as a tangible place for Zhongli to return to. His post is where he belongs as a consultant, he’ll always have Hu Tao to greet him when he comes back (even if she’s mad at him for not getting the sesame oil she asked for).
Such thoughts accompanied him when he returned from the peak of the amber prison mountain. A sombre evening of quietly reminiscing with Mountain Shaper and Moon Carver over a pot of his specialty slow cooked bamboo-shoot soup.
This time, he waits for her. Everyone else is celebrating the Lantern Rite with their families and friends, but Director Hu ordered him to meet her back here. He doesn’t object to her, only ever simply making gentle suggestions in line with his role as a consultant. His attention is drawn away from his thoughts as the aged lock of the front door wheezes and clicks open. Zhongli gets up and instinctively follows the noise, in human literature his actions would be described as ‘puppy dog like’ because it resembles the loyalty of a canine, which is a silly antiquation.
“Welcome back, Master.” Zhongli says in a quiet voice, his golden eyes meeting his boss’ vibrant, smiling face.
“Hi, Hi, Hi Zhongli!” She beams, her face is red from drinking alcohol but definitely not intoxicated. “We played Mahjong!” she giggles. Her demeanour gives Zhongli the impression of the favourable outcome in the game. Hu Tao brushes past him, her fingers gently grazing against his own, but as they both realise the gesture, she goes for it and grabs onto his fingers and tenderly guides him towards the back part of the parlour.
“Come, come! I want to see you.”
Zhongli smiles, gold meets red again. Familiar affection rains down gently on his soul, her actions warm him like a fresh cup of tea in his favourite square cup.
“Of course, Director.”
–
It’s not often that Zhongli gets to see the director’s residence, even though it sits right above him. He’s been a handful of times, to deliver messages or nourishment when she is sick, but never any private matters and to his surprise, there isn’t enough alcohol in her body to impede her judgement.
“It’s unlike you, Director, to bring me along to your abode.” He comments in a soft tone. He relaxes in the sitting area not far from the door.
Hu Tao smiles confidently, like she’s satisfied with herself. She had discarded her hat, and is in the process of undoing her usual hairstyle, her dark mahogany hair as long as she is tall, cascades down like the earthy spiral of the chasm.
“Sorry Zhongli, I don't have any tea for you.” She says. “I just had this feeling that I wanted to see you.”
A comfortable silence falls between them, Hu Tao quietly combs her hair. Anything Zhongli wants to say feels pointless, he doesn’t need to ask if she had fun or not, or if the wine she drank was good. They are like two buds on the same branch, blossoming with exact synchronisation without ever having to signal to the other. Guizhong also gives him such memories, and he thought that when she perished that so would he. Though once she had been slaughtered in battle, Zhongli struggled to look at his own face. He thought of himself and Guizhong like the cogs in her mechanical creations. How can a machine thrive when one of the cogs is frozen in place? Perhaps that analogy is antiquated, too.
“Director, you said that you had wanted to see me?” Zhongli fills the silent space.
She doesn’t look up at him, but watches how her soft strands fall between her fingertips. “I thought you were lonely. You didn’t come to my concert, and you went and spent Lantern Rite all by yourself. I bet you were thinking of me the whole time, weren’t you?” As she finishes, her face lights up into her usual cheeky grin.
Zhongli only ever knew the truth and nothing else. He disguises it in fun human colloquialisms such as ‘let's just say my memory is too good’. It would give him no pleasure in telling his director verities about Guizhong, if only she knew how insensitive her statement was, but Zhongli is a patient old god (man) and he answers her playfully.
“I sat alone on the highest mountain peaks watching the xiao lanterns flutter down to the rivers and sipped tea.” a pause. “And thought of you.”
There’s a distinct shine of confidence in her eyes. ‘Hu Tao’ and ‘Ego’ are synonyms in the dictionary. She springs over closer to him, invading what humans would call ‘personal space’, he doesn’t pull away from her.
“The lanterns were so pretty, they reminded me of your eyes, you both have the same lustre as cor lapis in the moonlight, an all-knowing static being. The centre of your existence lies in an eternal stasis, shielding itself with knowledge.” Her presence fills him with ease. He doesn’t mind the alcohol on her breath, nor the closeness of their positions.
“You are a most profound poet, director.” He hopes she actually does not follow through with her engagements with that bard from the banquet earlier, lest she comes home to him speaking in riddles.
“I was so happy to be included in the festivities.” She says softly. “Usually people give me this uncomfortable smile when I see them in the harbour, I hate it.” A pause, and she looks at him. “They say ‘Oh Hu Tao? She’s a nice girl but she sleeps in coffins with dead people already inside!’” She mocks the cluster of her critics with a childish voice. She dramatically lies down, her hair spills all over the floor.
As Zhongli would know, those coffins would have no persons inside, what he didn’t know was that the words of others could bother the director so much. He’d usually find her in a fit of laughter, telling him about her latest mischief that she’s committed, and then complain when he lectures her about her image. Guizhong always said that humans are a resilient bunch. He supposes that's true when they have to run away after a civilian calls for the Millelith when she is too forceful with her marketing.
“It’s my role as a consultant to advise you to not mind their discomfort, director. Death is not an approachable subject for many. It brings grief, and with grief ebbs the tide of sadness.” The Lantern Rite festival is about death as it is core, those who it leaves behind. To send off a xiao lantern is to say that you trust that the person you love is at peace in the afterlife.
“I can always count on your wisdom.” She smiles at him. She’s said many times that he is the one that she can trust the most. “But it did get me thinking, Zhongli.” Another pause. “Our most treasured festival is one that brings the living closer together for five days, they become less afraid of death then they ever have been.”
Zhongli feels such a wide gap between them. His existence as Rex Lapis, Morax, the geo archon is like a plant left in cobblestone ruins. As time passes the vines grow longer and wrap themselves around the structure, his true identity will constrict his human form for as long as there is something to be called human in Teyvat. Death will not encompass him the way it will her. He stares at Hu Tao like how he would stare at mortals before Guizhong died, a stern but internally confused stare. She is a person, he is an adeptus with human skin. She reaches for his hand, her soft skin holding his bloodstained palm.
“When I die, I want you to direct my funeral.”
However, to have Hu Tao lying in front of him, all her actions and words making him think of Guizhong. There has to be meaning in that, for truth is the only thing that will remain in Zhongli’s memory. If Guizhong could come back to him, surely she would reveal herself on the eve of the last day of lantern rite, as the xiao lanterns descend their way into the rivers and seas. In this moment, he sees Hu Tao and Guizhong, both smiling a joyful smile at him with warm red cheeks. Will you come back to me, my Guizhong? He thinks. If his director could be his dearest companion from long ago, then the descent into humanity would be less painful, for he would not have to leave her behind.
He moves down gently onto the floor next to Hu Tao.
“Then I would simply make you live forever.” He says in a quiet voice.
He had expected her to burst out laughing. Her graceful delight would make her either cover her smile with her hand, or put a hand on her tummy - as all humans do. Instead, she smiles brighter at him but not without a small giggle.
“Promise me.” She says. Hu Tao extends her pinky out to him. He’s heard of this, humans call it ‘pinky-swear’ a child-like form of contract making but its youthful features don’t diminish its power. Of course, it does not elude Zhongli that it’s a strange thing to promise about, since she knows that he’s nothing but human after all. His gloved pinky finger locks with hers.
“Even if you are more likely to complete my funeral first. It’s a promise.”