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Likewise, then as now, the port was constantly abuzz with sailors and laborers.
Legend has it that Rex Lapis, when appearing in mortal form, does not always take the form of a distinguished gentleman fraternizing with the well-to-do of Yujing Terrace. Sometimes, it is said, he takes the form of a commoner and mingles with the miners, the fishermen, the sailors, and the peddlers.
Rex Incognito, Volume 3
The sun is sweltering.
Summer is not kind in Liyue: it creates a lid of humidity around the base of the mountains, the air sticky and difficult to breathe.
Unfortunately, Diluc is not used to it.
The straps of the light luggage he carries dig into his shoulders, chafing against his already sweaty skin. It must barely be two hours after dawn, and he's already in pathetic conditions, huffing and puffing as he rests against a bamboo trunk on the way. He has to arrive at the harbor, at least. The promise of a fresh, salty breeze tickles his hair. He hauls the bag higher on his back, mentally praying Barbatos to dispel some heat.
Barbatos must be sleeping because when Diluc arrives at Liyue Harbor, the situation hasn't changed much, and the bustling of people coming and going from the piers doesn't help. Too many colors, too many pungent smells. He hadn't eaten much in the previous hours, and now the slow bites of hunger attacking his stomach have become potent nausea, washing him from his stomach to his throat.
He should drink. Water, cold water. He drops his bag on the pavement, searching for his flask. Bringing it to his lips, he almost spits it out. A literal hot broth.
"I can't believe it," he mutters. He throws it over his head as his legs give out, forcing him to slump to the ground, the only bit of relief coming from the exposed chilly tiles of a shop's exterior. It never got this bad in Monstadt, and Diluc avoids his gaze from the occasional passerby who regards him with a look of pity. The early days of heroic vengeance are far gone after two years of wandering.
Someone throws a coin at his feet. He grabs it, stuffing it in his pocket. Who cares if they think he's a beggar? The more anonymous he looks, the better.
"Hey, are you alright?" A bright, young voice trills.
Diluc raises his head, scrutinizing the kid. She has long, brown twin pigtails and the biggest crimson eyes he's ever seen. She must be between eight and ten years old, and, unlike other people, she gets close to him, hardly thrown off by his ragged appearance. "You should go somewhere cooler or maybe wear a hat! You know, if you're not careful, you could die from dehydration." She giggles, lightly fanning Diluc's face with her hands. "At least, that's what my grandpa says. And it's a silly way to die, don't you think?"
It is. To think about all the ways Diluc has brushed shoulders with death, being killed by the heat would be the most stupid.
"D'ya have some water?" He manages to ask, his throat scratchy.
The girl scrunches her nose. "No, but I know someone who could help you." She gets to his feet, taking off in the port's direction. "Wait here!"
It's not like Diluc can go anywhere with how weak his body feels. He lets his head hang back, ignoring the itchy sweat collecting at the nape of his neck, and prays that the girl comes back quickly.
When he opens his eyes again after a few minutes, a shadow is shielding him from the burning light.
"Xiangsheng, that's him. He needs help, doesn't he?"
There it is, the girl's voice again. Thank Barbatos.
Diluc tries to focus more on the person standing beside her, and he squints, trying to make out their features.
"What's your name?"
A deep and gravelly voice reaches Diluc's ears. The mouth uttering those words is pinched in a straight line. The nose above it is straight as well, sharp and low. The man's eyes are a deep amber, surrounded by fine expression lines.
"Diluc."
"Very well, Diluc. I'm Zhongli. Do you think you can stand up?"
Diluc musters up every last bit of energy. When he gets to his feet, Zhongli sneaks his arm around his shoulders as support, which would make Diluc jump if it wasn't for the tightness in his chest and the tiredness making his limbs heavy.
"Hu Tao, could you gather his things?"
Despite Diluc's bag being bigger than her, Hu Tao carries it with ease, skipping along the cobbled liyuen streets with the confidence of a mouse that knows every corner of the city.
"If you agree, I'll bring you to my house. It's not far from here, and it's less hot," Zhongli whispers as they slowly move, following the building's shadows whenever it's possible. "You need a proper meal. When was the last time you had one?"
Diluc's chest tightens again, a sudden rush of tears filling his eyes. His last proper meal had been before he turned eighteen, around a table surrounded by his father and brother, his stomach full of Adelinde's delicious cooking, his heart swimming in his chest with real serenity.
"A while ago." He manages to choke out, and he hopes that if Zhongli sees the tear sliding down his cheek, he mistakes it for sweat.
Some time passes, Diluc is not sure how much, and he wakes up abruptly in the middle of a room he doesn't recognize, breathing heavily.
He starts to panic, a tight feeling constricting his lungs. How stupid could he be? Letting his guard down? Letting Zhongli - a stranger - lead him to an unfamiliar place, passing out in his presence?
What if Zhongli was an undercover Fatui agent disguised as a simple man to trick him into surrendering? Zhongli's name could be fake. His way of helping could be dissolving a poison into his glass and throwing his lifeless body into the rippling waters of the harbor. Flawless, easy. A job well done that could earn him a bonus on his salary from his superiors. Finally, the annoying pest from Mondstadt has been eradicated! Long live the Tsaritsa!
But then, reality speaks of the contrary.
Someone had changed Diluc's shirt into a linen one of fine manufactury, open on his chest. The bed he's laying on is soft. After countless nights of sleeping on the ground, it almost doesn't feel real for his back. There's a cool towel on his forehead and a water basin next to the bed.
If Zhongli really wants to kill Diluc, he's misleading him with kindness first. A slow burn homicide. Even this feels more and more like a stretch, but Diluc knows even the most unreasonable things could be possible.
"Do you still feel nauseous?"
"I feel dead," is the dry answer Diluc graces Zhongli with as he sits up, his head spinning a little. The man comes into view, and Diluc has a chance to observe him better.
He's tall, with a nice frame; Diluc could take some time to knock him out. A red bandana prevents his long hair from falling into his face, and he's holding...
He's holding a knife.
Before Diluc can muster up the strength to scream, Zhongli opens his mouth first.
"Do you fancy some bamboo shoot soup?"
Diluc's mouth hangs agape. "Huh?"
Zhongli chuckles, waving the knife in the air. "Ah, I forget you're not from Liyue. But I assure you, it's really good for your health. Join me in the dining room?"
Still high on the spike of adrenaline from seeing a man with a knife on the end of the bed, Diluc follows him with trembling legs, crashing on a chair in the other room of the house. Somehow, the air is cool, save for a corner of the kitchen where a pot is simmering on the stove, a delicate smell trailing around them. Zhongli goes back to chopping something with his unnecessarily large knife, his back turned to Diluc, who observes his surroundings intently.
Nets. Nets, nets, nets everywhere. Green nets, white nets, with holes larger than Diluc's fist or smaller than his nail. Then fish hooks dangling from the ceiling, some rustier than others. And then maps, scattered across the table Diluc's sitting at, on the floor, and plastered to the walls. A wooden bookshelf looms behind him, so full it might burst at any moment.
"How d'you know I'm not from Liyue?"
Zhongli throws him an amused glance over his shoulder. "Mh. Your clothes. Your accent."
Is that so, Diluc muses. He guesses he can conceal his appearance all he wants, but to change the way his lips shape sounds... that's a level of disguise he hasn't figured out yet. If he had to describe how people in Liyue speak, he'd say that they find all the words delicious: they keep their wovels in their mouth, dissolving them under their tongue, and they chew their consonants until all that remains is a bony, nimble structure. It's beyond fascinating.
"Are you a fisherman?" He presses on, tracing random shapes on the table's surface.
"Something like that," comes Zhongli's answer as he turns off the stove and brings the fuming pot under Diluc's nose, a waft of steam hitting his face when Zhongli uncovers the lid. "Eat first. Questions later."
As if on cue, Diluc's stomach starts to rumble like crazy, his mouth watering at the sight of the broth, full of meat and the crunchy bamboo shoots. "Thank you," he mumbles with an awkward glance as he brings the first spoonful to his lips, and he nearly has to bite back a groan. It's good. It's really, really good.
Zhongli watches him with a placid smile, and Diluc can't help but take back everything he thought about him. He's just a generous man, and there aren't many who would accept a foreigner into their home without batting an eye.
Diluc eats silently, gulping down his glass of water every time Zhongli refills it. The man joins him after a while, sinking his chopsticks in a bowl of spicy tofu.
"Doesn't it make you hot?" Diluc grimaces, the angry red of Zhongli's dish shimmering under the light filtering from the closed windows.
Zhongli shrugs. "I'm used to it. Want to try?"
Diluc lightly shakes his head, digging again into his own pot. When his spoon clinks against the bottom, moving around a few cold leftovers, he leans back into the chair, his stomach full and satisfied.
"Thanks for the meal."
Zhongli nods, reaching for the dishes and bringing them to the sink to wash for later. "If you want anything else, just ask. I am in no shortage of food, thankfully."
"Are you this nice to everybody?" Diluc inquires, a disbelieving smile finally twisting his features.
Zhongli returns to the table with a long pipe and a small satchel full of dried tobacco. He takes a pinch of it, pushing it down the pipe with his finger. When he lights it up, a burning smell invades the room, and Zhongli takes a long drag of smoke before releasing it through his nostrils. "Am I? I guess I can't say no when Hu Tao asks me to do something."
"Is she your daughter?" She could be, Diluc thinks. Zhongli could've had her earlier in life, even though it's a little weird that she doesn't live with him.
Zhongli lets out a chuckle. "No, I'm not her father. She's the granddaughter of the old Wansheng, the funeral parlor director. He and I are good acquaintances, and sometimes he asks me to keep an eye on her when he's too busy with his job." He brings the pipe closer to his lips again, tendrils of thick, white smoke floating in the air. "Eventually, she'll take his place in the family business. But that's not something a child should worry about now."
Diluc hums, staring at a ring of water left on the table. He hopes the burden of a legacy weighing on Hu Tao's future is enough for her to bear. There are situations - unfortunate circumstances, really - desperate enough to make you run away from home.
Zhongli clears his throat, shaking Diluc from his silent reverie. "What about you, Diluc? Are you a traveler?"
"Something like that," Diluc answers, biting his tongue when he realizes that's a reply as vague as the one Zhongli had given him just a few moments ago.
"I met a traveler once. They were a kindred spirit, worn out by the world. They were searching for their sibling."
A pang of sadness thrums inside Diluc's chest. His own sibling is at home, and sometimes he has to ransack the back of his mind to remember how he looks like. Nevertheless, Diluc is searching for someone else, just not a person he'd hug between tears of joy.
"Did they manage to find each other?"
Zhongli taps his fingers against his chin. "Who knows. I hope they did." He pauses for a moment, his amber eyes planting themselves into Diluc's crimson ones. It's a little uncomfortable. "You have the same gaze, tired yet determined. I admire you."
No, you don't. Not if you knew.
"I'm..." Diluc inhales a sharp breath. "Looking for someone too."
"Who?"
A crazy asshole with blue hair. A madman who defied the laws of life and death, who meddled with my family, and whose affiliation runs all the way to Snezhnaya. A bastard who would probably turn a god's gaze upside down, forging a Vision into a Delusion, molding a body into a puppet.
"A doctor," is what he settles for. It's half of the truth - Il Dottore is what he goes by, even if his actions do more harm than good. At Diluc's words, Zhongli scoffs, the smoke collecting in curvy tendrils around his face.
"Heavens, a doctor... I hope it's not doctor Baizhu."
Diluc leans forward on his forearms. "Why do you say that? Is he incompetent?"
Zhongli's frown deepens. "Incompetent? Ah, I wish! He's too knowledgeable and too overzealous. And every time he asks me if I'm in good health and I say yes, he looks displeased about it. I won't let him touch my body as long as I live."
It's quite funny, a grown adult so stubborn about going to the doctor. As a sailor, he's probably a little superstitious as well.
"Anyway, no, it's not him."
Zhongli hums, toying with the thick ring around his thumb. Diluc observes it closely: back in Mondstadt, Amber used to have two on her at all times during training to avoid the burn on her skin from her bow and arrow. Zhongli wears the same kind, even though Diluc's not sure what he would use it for.
"Pardon me the intrusive question but, ah... Are you ill in some way? Is this doctor the only one who could cure you?"
He is sick. Blinded by rage, yes. Poisoned by heartbreak and hit by betrayal, that too. But it's not something Diluc can explain to Zhongli in a few words.
"No, I just have a bone to pick with him," he spits out far more vehemently than he intended to. "For, uhm... medical malpractice," he says, lying through his teeth.
"Why not put your case in the hands of the law, then? Liyue has a renowned law school, and the court of Fontaine always operates in the name of justice."
A fire lights up inside Diluc's stomach. Zhongli knows nothing.
Right, he knows nothing. He doesn't know how the highest institution in Mondstadt, founded to protect the people, had swept his father's death under the rug just to save face in front of everyone. Some brave and daring knights they are. For Diluc, it's only natural to be wary of anything built upon hierarchy now, and it's the arrogant thought of I am the law that has kept him going for so long.
"I believe my greatsword can talk better than a judge," he declares, crossing his arms in front of his chest, a defiant look thrown in Zhongli's direction. He expects him to be affronted about it, but instead, there's just an amused expression dancing on his face.
"Suit yourself." He shrugs, fetching a small ivory bowl to put the burnt tobacco in. "If you think violence is the answer, trust your guts."
Zhongli graces him with a teasing smirk, and Diluc almost wants to smack it off his mouth.
Zhongli knows nothing, Diluc repeats to himself. Yet it seems like he knows way more than he lets on.
Diluc can't stay for too long in Liyue, he knew that as soon as he stepped foot in the nation. ( He can't stay anywhere for too long, and that's something he's had to come to terms with ). He needs to gather intel, terrorize a few Fatui ( torture them if worse comes to worst ), and start his travels again. On a hunch. Alone.
Archons, he can't even set foot outside Zhongli's house that the stuffy air generously licks his whole face, the humidity clinging to his skin even after he retreats back inside.
"It's like this every day," Zhongli sympathetically says, not lifting his gaze from a jumbled net on his lap. He's wearing a thick pair of glasses balanced on the tip of his nose as he tries to pass a thread through a needle. "We only get a little relief up in the mountains."
"Do you ever go there?"
"Sometimes. When my occupation permits it, of course. I'm from Qingce Village."
Diluc sits down again, motioning Zhongli to give him the needle and thread. "Why did you come down here then?" The thread slides easily inside the little iron hole, tied at the end in a little knot. Diluc hands it back to Zhongli.
"Thank you. Well, I needed a change of scenery." He chuckles. It's contagious, his deep and rumbling laugh. It makes Diluc want to smile too at the absurdity of life, of a fate that doesn't look them in the eye when it weaves their future. "I won my boat at gambling."
Diluc's eyes double in size. "No, you didn't."
"Sure did. And I don't like fish, but I love chatting with people at the market. Hearing their little stories of mundane things reminds me every day of the beauty of humanity," he declares, carefully repairing the net. Needle in, needle out. His hands don't look soft by any means, and still, their touch was so gentle when they hoisted Diluc up, helping him to stay upright.
"You're awfully poetic, you know that? Weird, as well. I've never met someone quite like you," Diluc says in a fit of honesty. He doesn't run his mouth like this, not anymore.
Zhongli doesn't seem unfazed by the roundabout compliment. He lowers his glasses, his pretty eyes crinkling around the corners. "Why, thank you. I'd say the same thing about yourself."
Diluc huffs, feigning annoyance. He ignores the way Zhongli's gaze bores into his soul, making a tiny pink bloom blossom in the center of his chest.
The heat doesn't relent until the sun goes down, painting the sky with orange streaks. The air is still damp, but a timid breeze blows from the sea, cooling down Diluc's skin. He feels a bit gross, with all the sticky sweat coating him and the hair ( which he definitely should cut ) clinging to his neck. He's survived worse, he guesses, but that's when Zhongli comes to his rescue once again.
After another generous dinner, he gets up, disappearing into his bedroom to fetch a bag. He makes a beeline towards the house's entrance, raising an eyebrow at Diluc still sitting at the table.
"Are you coming?"
Diluc warily follows him, rubbing the palms of his hands on the rough fabric of his trousers. "Where are we going?"
Cryptic as they come, Zhongli says, "To freshen up." And Diluc really can't object to that.
The docks at night are empty. Only the boats are gently lulled by the waves, casting shadows under the moonlight. As they walk toward the core of the city, it gets a bit livelier, with patrons mulling around shops and taverns, their rambunctious laughs bouncing off the streets.
Some of them are drunk. Diluc recognizes the smell of alcohol on their breaths when they bump into him, apologizing with deep bows until they step on each other's feet. He notices their intertwined hands, their noses nuzzling each other's necks, and a flicker of envy licks his stomach. He's never had the privilege of experiencing a connection like that, and with his current situation at hand, he's smart enough not to get involved with another person. To love a man who one day is alive and the next is on the brink of death is the worst wrongdoing Diluc could put someone through, probably. The invisible wall between what he wants and what he's allowed to have is the most tangible thing he knows. He can butt his head against it until it bleeds, and the wall would show no cracks.
But then, a hand steadily placed on the middle of his back pulls him out of his spiraling thoughts. He flinches, and the solid weight disappears. Diluc bites his tongue: it could've lingered a bit more.
"Don't mind them. Too much alcohol clouds the mind and inhibits the senses, and some people don't know when to stop."
"Because it feels good," Diluc childishly rebutts. "I think. Maybe they're not too worried about ridiculing themselves in public."
"Maybe so," Zhongli hums, curiously tilting his head to the side. "Would you like to try?"
Diluc thinks about the wall and his bleeding forehead, his simple desires trickling down. "No, not tonight."
Zhongli only briefly nods before resuming the walk on their path.
It doesn't take them too long to get to the outskirts of Liyue Harbor. Human chatting becomes the chirping of crickets, and the tall grass tickles Diluc's ankles, even if he can't really see where he's putting his feet. Their surroundings are shrouded in darkness, the stars the only spectators in the sky. Zhongli guides him right under Mt. Tianheng, where a tiny natural pool reflects the silvery moonlight. Some lonesome seelies float around it, their translucent tails dipping in the water.
"Here?" Diluc asks, peeking over the other man's shoulder. "Isn't it a bit... in the open?"
Zhongli raises an eyebrow. "Do you see anyone else around?"
Good argument, Diluc would say if Zhongli didn't immediately discard his clothes, throwing them into a heapless lump on the ground. He averts his gaze just in time, blood immediately rushing to his ears. He only dares to look once he hears the water sloshing and a contented sigh, Zhongli's face relaxed. He extends an arm, pointing at the bag buried under his clothes.
"Would you mind passing me that? There's soap inside."
Diluc does just that, watching as Zhongli dips the bar in the water and starts scrubbing his skin, not missing an inch of it. A quizzical look manages to get past his chill demeanor, pinning Diluc in place. "You should get in."
Diluc shifts his weight from foot to foot. "Yeah, I just... Turn around, please."
Zhongli doesn't question him further, which is a relief. Away from his magnetic attention, Diluc peels off each layer of clothing, trying not to peek at his own reflection in the pool.
His body reminds him too much of a hermit crab whose outer shell cracked before he could change it, and now he's caged in something not entirely broken, but not entirely whole either. One of his shoulders pops every time he moves it too quickly, not to mention the jagged scars littering his torso, from his neck to his lower pelvis. The ugliest ones are at his back: deep, raised, pulling at his skin like a cat's claws. A gift from the Fatui, along with the persona non grata title printed on his forehead. It's a miracle he's still there to say it, really.
But the water works like a soothing balm, molding itself around him. He submerges until the tips of his hair float on the surface like red algae, and when he comes back to breathe again Zhongli is running a comb through his own dark locks, from section to section.
"You needed that," he lightheartedly comments, passing him the soap bar. Their fingers brush in the process. Again, that zap of electricity, of getting closer. Diluc scrubs his skin raw to forget that sensation, even when he groans because he can't reach his back well.
"Want some help?"
Diluc's bright flush returns to his ears. "It's alright."
Zhongli sets his comb down. "If it's about your scars, I've already seen them when I changed your shirt this morning."
Diluc bites the inside of his cheek. "You must find them unsightly."
A frown. "I think they're just scars. Besides, they remind me of that traveler I met. They had two on their back because it's where their wings used to be. Are you sure you didn't have a pair in the past?"
Diluc snorts despite himself, shaking his head at Zhongli's teasing. "What are you even saying..." he mutters as he turns around, holding his hair over his chest so Zhongli can have easier access to his back.
The first touch is tentative, wordlessly asking for permission. Then, it becomes steady and methodical, Zhongli's hands running over muscle and sinew, over the protruding vertebrae of his spine. Diluc feels like Zhongli is repairing the cracks on his shell with soft clay, filling them in, smoothing them out. He wants this moment to stretch forever, and he lets out a wistful sigh when Zhongli's hands abandon him, cool running water replacing them.
"Thank you."
"I could also do your hair."
A quiet offering with empty palms facing the sky. Like Barbatos' statue in the middle of Mondstadt, Zhongli almost looks divine standing in the water, the moonlight softly spilling above him. Isn't it selfish for a mere, flawed mortal to accept such a gift from a God?
But Zhongli is a mortal like him, and Diluc wants to be greedy for once.
He doesn't say anything as he reclines his head back. Again, the hand burying itself in his hair is solid and warm, and Diluc feels its reassuring strokes all the way back to the harbor.
The towels they used to dry themselves get hung outside Zhongli's window – in a few hours, they'll be warm and dry again. And in a few hours, Diluc will probably be on his way again like a hunting dog. He needs to arrange his stuff and thank Zhongli for his hospitality. He should gift him something, probably. What would a person like him wish for? Something expensive? Diluc doesn't have much money on him, but maybe he can throw something together or send it to him while he's on his way. A useful tool? An ornament? Zhongli seems like a hoarder, with all the maps and books scattered around his house. If he continues his route towards Sumeru, he could find some interesting merchants. Word of mouth says that knowledge in that land is stored in capsules. It seems a bit absurd and unconventional, but...
"A Mora for your thoughts?"
Zhongli gently pulls Diluc out of his wandering mind as he brings him back to earth, back to the window that looks over to the sea.
Diluc rummages in his pockets. He finds the coin thrown to him that morning, and he puts it on Zhongli's outstretched palm, waiting for a peal of infectious laughter.
It doesn't arrive, not quite. Just a quiet huff and the coin gets placed on the windowsill between their folded arms. "I'm serious. If that's something you are willing to talk about."
Diluc quickly speaks. "I'm going away tomorrow. Well, today. You've been very kind to me, the kindest anyone has ever been in a long time, but I can't stay. So, thank you. I figured I'd say this now – better sooner than later." Done, band-aid ripped. However, Zhongli's face crumples a little, like he's the one in pain.
"What's your next destination?"
"Sumeru."
Zhongli hums. "The heatwave will continue for another two or three weeks, and Sumeru is likely hotter and more humid at this time of the year." He idly flips the coin. "Not to mention the Withering that's eating away parts of the forest. Are you sure you want to be there now?"
Diluc is tired, so tired. He doesn't want to be anywhere right now. Maybe home. But he can't, not until his self-imposed martyrdom comes to an end.
"I will help you search for your so-called doctor. You can help me with business here. And when the first rain of the season comes, I'll let you go."
"You want me to be your ship's boy?" Diluc flips the coin again.
"Why not?" Zhongli lightly bumps his shoulder against Diluc's. "So, stay?"
Diluc takes a moment to mull over Zhongli's words. Pausing his trip for a few weeks will do him good, and he won't risk collapsing under the sun in the desert. Finally, he relents. "Fine, I'll stay."
An amused smile spreads over Zhongli's lips, and he offers his hand for Diluc to shake. "We've got a deal, then. Now, off you go. Sailors wake up three hours before dawn."
Sleep comes easier than ever that night.
The next morning Diluc finds the coin nailed to the windowsill, glinting under the sunlight. A promise, a contract, and an opportunity, all in one.