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They say that the heart can never forget its first love.
But after a thousand lifetimes, Lumine understands that to describe her as his first love is but a poor underestimation of the bond that they had once shared.
Because it’s not merely the feeling of butterflies in one’s stomach when hands briefly touch and linger in the air between like the waves would miss golden shores. It’s not merely the feeling of vivid flowers blooming in their hearts and on their skin where they’ve touched one another in a shared space that is theirs and theirs alone. It’s not just the way that she could trace the spark of hope that grew from his heart and into his eyes, like a light once extinguished now risen from dust like a phoenix from its ashes.
It’s much, much more than that.
It’s how his eyes would tarry where she once stood, as if following an invisible thread that only he could see and trace. It’s how he would lose his train of thoughts, words usually flowing like silken strands of golden following one another like a river following its natural course, suddenly cut through with ease the way that blade could to a piece of paper.
But sometimes, sometimes she lets her mind wander. She lets her thoughts trail off as she notes how his footsteps seemed to have forgotten how to take the strong, firm steps that he would walk with.
Eventually, she learns this name through the songs hummed in the dark of the night, amongst the scent of smoked pine tree and star anise. She learns how it is pronounced, gently and carefully, by the gasps and whispers that shake him from his sleep. She learns the tone that it is said with when she follows behind, watching the leaves imprinted onto the soil where his foot would step on for a little too long, leaning a little too heavily.
Ultimately, she says it syllable by syllable, the name lingering past her lips under a particular full moon, where the stars were shining their brightest under a dried plum blossom tree.
From that day onwards, Lumine came to familiarise herself with the name Guizhong.
-
After a thousand and one lifetimes, Lumine is able to recall the first time that it had happened.
It was an unassuming stroll, where the scent of the sea mixed with the wayward sting of smoked peppercorns, where the laughter of people blended together with the gentle light of fading twilight, shyly painting the rosy fingered sunset with strokes of jet black. As the fireworks that reminded her of a warm love full of childish joy fluttered in her heart, she playfully nuzzled her head on her beloved’s shoulder as she called out to him gently.
”Zhongli.”
Her voice chimed through the air like a bell as she closed the distance between them. Although she knew that it would only be a matter of time until he turns to her with a fond smile…
It never happened.
Not even a slight turn of the head or familiar, bright warm irises greeted her where she stood. There was not a single mention of her name, softly spoken as a familiar response to convey a gentle, playful chide for her to have patience before he forgets how to pay attention to the world around them.
She feels something crumble, and directs her gaze to where their fingers intertwine. As his hands gently trembled and the ground beneath her tremble, uneasiness began to fester in her heart as she watched the grandest and tallest of mountains begin to crumble from inside out.
This was the first time that she had seen him like this, she’s certain of that.
Yet why does this feel so infinitely familiar, as if she’s been through this a thousand times over?
Why does it feel as if she had lost him before, as if it had happened a thousand times in a hundred years?
”Yes, Lumine?”
His voice shook her from her nightmare and back to reality. Back to a familiar, soft gaze and a warm smile reminiscent of the first gentle breeze of autumn. As he bore that smile on his face, she could not shake the feeling that there was something beneath it all.
She could sense the involuntary distance between them. She could feel this unnamed rift that had bore into her heart out of the blue, one that urged a question out of her that she tried to muster the courage to speak into the winds and into his heart…
”Did you call for me, dearest?”
But she dared not to voice it.
”I did, yes.” She pulled herself away from her thoughts and forced a slight curve of her lips. ”…I simply missed you.”
In response, Zhongli lets out a brief laugh as he places a hand on the top of her head.
“You need not to, my sky.” He plants a chaste kiss on tufts of golden. “I would not dare to give you the opportunity to miss me.
And yet, as Lumine shifted her gaze towards where their hands come together, something tugged at her heartstrings like gravity to a paper plane. It was how her hold on his hand had weakened, and all that was left was Zhongli’s fingers on the side of her hands as he kept her palms pressed to his the entire time that her mind was at war with her heart.
”...For a second of my life without you is the equivalent of a thousand lifetimes without you.”
Hearing that, her eyes returned to Zhongli. Underneath the kiss that she presses onto his lips, she prayed and hoped that it would be enough to beguile her own heart, to forget the quiet cracks that had made its way to the surface.
Because to the unobservant, his golden orbs continue to look as enduring as they are powerful, but Lumine is far from that. She is not a sailor easily fooled by the enchanting mist that obscures the north star.
Because beyond that icy mist, she sees the flash of a dying star - a weak glimmer that feels like an unfamiliar apprehension that did not belong with stalwart gold. It was her who felt the way that his fingers twitched as if it was a soft plea for help. It was her who could see how his throat moved as if to ask a thousand questions, but was determined to cage the desire forever.
With a heavy heart, Lumine tries to free her thoughts from the relentless claws that came from the depths of her stomach, rendering the fireworks dim and muted and the kiss numb and cold. She dared not ask, out of fear that it should wake an avalanche that threatens his core being.
Only in her latter lifetimes was she able to identify where the knot in her chest had come from, with ropes so tight around her heart and lungs that not even the brightest and most lush bushes of valerian roots and chrysanthemum could ever hope to relieve.
Even if they were planted by Zhongli himself.
-
After a thousand and two lifetimes, Lumine wonders if the heart is truly as fickle as they say.
But for the longest time, Lumine had always thought that it was something that never would have applied to Zhongli.
Yet one particular lifetime, after the night had painted the sky a thousand times over and the ocean had drunk its blue glow a million times over, her mind wanders and she ponders if Zhongli had forgotten how to listen to his heart’s own pleas. If he had been staying silent just for her, if he had been holding on just for her, but in the process he had been stifling his own tears in silence.
She wonders from within her heart, from the home that he had made just for her, built out of the sturdiest stone and adorned with the most ornamental gold and exquisite marble, built entirely out of love in every nook and cranny as vivid flowers decorated every corner, every area inside that space reserved only for them and them alone as butterflies sat outside the windowsill as they leisurely gazed at one another…
She wonders who it was made for: them, or her? Why?
Is it the guilt that encases his heart, noticeably silent amongst the wafting scent of pine resin and waning moonlight as she sits by his side? Is it the sorrow that entangles itself around his legs, intentionally present only when he is certain that Lumine isn’t looking upon him and she has her sights set elsewhere? Is it the shadows that adorn his eyes when nighttime comes and she is only able to set her sights on his back?
She looks away from the sunset that he had pointed out only mere minutes ago, but she lingers a little to look at his golden eyes. She spots a small glimmer of something - doubt, or perhaps even uncertainty, or - dare she say - unworthiness from behind his stalwart gaze.
It sows anxiety and worry in her heart - one that she is scared to let grow because what if it sprouts and blooms faster than their love? What if it consumes it entirely?
As she watched the full moon gently rise from the horizon where it perched, Lumine’s hand tensed when she noticed something touch the back of her hand.
”My love?”
She turns her head to see him and the worry that painted his features.
”I…”
…She wonders now if they had been gazing upon the same sky all this time.
”What is it that plagues your heart, dearest?”
And among the autumn breeze, she bites her lower lip as an unsaid insult invades her core being.
”I’m selfish.” It says.
But instead, she reaches out to him. As he sits down on the stool across from her, she tries to force her hands to stop trembling, begs her worries to fade and melt away as their fingers intertwine, seeking refuge inside familiar palms.
…If only.
The next morning, Lumine gazes upon his back, scar tissue evident on most of his skin and she gently tries to reach out to him. She extends her fingers slowly, reaching for his back as golden streamed from in front of him, thinking of how short the distance between them truly was.
Between her and the back that has carried the weight of war and loss, skin that had bled and healed a million times in a hundred years, and wounds that had left memories of past grievances.
But…
As she made contact with the skin that she has always loved a thousand times over, that she had planted kisses on a million times over, she wonders if their time was truly meant for one another.
And from that lifetime onwards, Lumine’s heart is plagued, wondering if she should let go.
Yet every single time, without fail, a flash of memories would remind her of what it felt like to place her hands in firm, slender ones that she likened to root and soil. She is reminded of the familiar scent of smoked pinewood that tells her after years of searching, she’s somewhere that she can call home. It reminds her of gentle, brown strands sprawled on silken sheets that tickles her when she wakes, unable to resist the smile that tickles her heart and encourages her to reciprocate it.
And her resolve blurs.
-
But after Lumine had lost count of how many lifetimes they’ve lived together and she’d remembered, she finally musters it all from within herself - the determination and willpower to let him go.
As she watches a thousand petals follow the ebb and flow of the ocean, a familiar melancholy fills her, flooding her heart with pleas and prayers. Each voice from her past lives constantly begging her not to, echoing persistently in her ears.
Then, she places a hand on her heart, hopeful that the warmth in her hands could perhaps undo the firm grip on it. Perhaps it would quietly wane. But when she is finally able to see past the petals and directly into the water’s surface, and into her own reflection, she widens her eyes at the sight.
Frantically, she starts wiping the tears that were beginning to trickle down her cheeks, but barely managed to save the few that fell into the water. One by one, they formed ripples on the water’s surface, bouncing her reflection back and forth towards her through the soft, blurry undulations.
It became harder and harder for her to see beyond her own reflection, mirroring back towards her the form of the resolve that was beginning to falter.
Stop it.
She begs to herself as she places her hands on her face, hoping that perhaps the darkness would swallow her grief whole. Perhaps she could stop looking at the water and at her own reflection, intent on reminding herself that she had made her decision, and she wasn’t going to go back on it.
No matter how much her heart hurts.
Stop being selfish.
But with every teardrop, it becomes harder and harder to breathe as a stinging feeling invaded the back of her throat. Then, Lumine falls down to the ground, unable to stop the sobs and cries that forced its way out of her, straining her throat. The sheer force of heartbreak had forced her hands to move away from her chest and onto her arms as she tries to hold herself together, but it only leaves marked bruises on her skin.
I can’t force him to love me the same way that I do him.
-
Yet despite it all, throughout over a thousand lifetimes, he comes to her once again, as he always has, and always will.
So when he rushes past the crowd at the harbour, he listens carefully to how the winds whisper into his ears. He lets it guide his hands and feet where they must go, but he does so with haste as a tightness envelops his hand.
Please, not again.
A silent plea escapes his mind as he rounds the corner before the sight of golden light upon wooden docks greets him. As the humming of the waves echo in his ears, slowly, he hears another voice. It was the sound of quiet crying, almost as if it was meant to drown as the sea continued to sing. It was almost far too easy to miss, but not for him.
If only it wasn’t such a familiar sound, one that he had heard over and over again.
Please.
He turns the corner and finds Lumine, curled up into a ball at the end of the docks, bathed in orange light.
Zhongli opens his mouth to speak, but then, he hears a muffled cry.
Immediately, he forgets his words.
And as he runs towards her, everything blurs.
-
For the first time in over a thousand lifetimes, the silence is different.
It’s not the kind of silence that they allow to envelop them as they bask in each other’s presence, comfortable and warm as slumber begins to overtake them.
Far from that.
It’s the kind that makes Zhongli’s hand tremble lightly, aimlessly searching for something to ground him. And although he does find a place to perch, he feels every new breath get stuck in his throat, as if the multitude of words that he can’t voice out was slowly but surely drowning him from the inside.
His grip on the pillow tightens and he opens his mouth to speak, but it dies on his tongue once again. As he feels heat on his arms beginning to boom from the stream of sunlight streaming through the golden-lined curtains, he hesitates.
And he quietly watches as Lumine sits in front of the mirror, brushing her hair with strokes gentler than usual, as if stalling or prolonging the act itself. He hears a faint, indistinct hum of a familiar song, but eventually the lyrics trail off and it’s replaced with what almost sounds like the beginnings of a stifled cry. Then, her gaze falls to her lap.
“Lumine.” He stands up and calls out to her.
However, she doesn’t turn around immediately. Instead, she shakes her head before turning to look at him with a small smile.
But he doesn’t pay attention to anything else besides the glassy amber orbs and the shaking hands. He sees the way her brow furrows, as if a masterless, aimless pity had taken hold of her.
“Yes, Zhongli?”
Oh, how the fear in his heart began to multiply when he heard the distant tone in her voice, devoid of the loving affection that she would always paint his name with. Instead of a warm smile reminiscent of the first gentle bloom of spring, he was met with the feeling of watching the last two yellowed leaves on a dry branch with dying tips.
He feels the involuntary distance between them growing, an unnamed rift wedging itself into his heart, urging a question that he wanted so badly to speak into the winds and into hear heart.
“...Did you call for me?”
But he purses his lips instead.
“I did, yes.” He walks closer to her, and places his hands on her shoulders. “...I simply wanted to see you.”
In response, Lumine turns her gaze back to the mirror and smiles at him through it. The smile that she gives him is earnest - that much, he can say. But when he adds up everything else, a wintry frost overtakes his heart.
She continues brushing her hair as she lowers her gaze.
“Lumine.”
He says as he places his hand over hers, and takes over the brush. Her hand slightly tenses, but eventually she relents. He watches as she lets her lips form slightly upwards.
Slowly, he brushes her hair, golden strands finding refuge among his fingers like the first light of dawn as it streamed past the windows.
As he takes a quiet breath, he mulls over his words before he finally speaks.
“For the longest time, I’ve seen my immortality as nothing but a curse.”
He watches as amber eyes slowly looked upwards at him through the mirror. Zhongli responds to her with a smile as he continues brushing her hair.
“Over the years, all the people that I’ve met, whether I consider them as friends, companions, allies...” He purses his lips and holds his breath before continuing. “Inevitably, time runs out for all. Be it by the will of the universe itself, or cruel and unjust turns of events...”
He places the brush on the desk next to her, and begins separating her hair into several strands.
“For those whose souls were forced to return to the stars, far before their time...More often than not, I’ve found myself wondering for if they were ever to be reborn...” Zhongli says as he continues to weave the strands of hair together. “...Would fate be kind to them, this time around? Would their new lives be ones led by laughter and peace, instead of one where they have to repel the darkness, mourn their loved ones, and perhaps lose themselves in the process?”
At the end of that sentence, he reaches the end of her hair.
“In those years... Yes, there was a love that I’ve never pursued - not even for a moment.” Zhongli’s gaze meets her in the mirror as he holds her golden strands together with both his hands. He watches as Lumine opens her mouth to say her name.
“Guizhong.”
“Guizhong.” Zhongli repeats as he reaches out to the hairband on the desk. “When I first saw her again, I wondered if it was really her. I wondered if finally she could traverse the streets of Liyue and listen to the storytellers, laugh along with the children and join them as they ran around, try the dishes that the people have developed over the years...” He lets his sentence trail off as he ties the band around the end of her hair, allowing the braid to settle in place.
“She talked about it often - about her dreams, should the war come to an end earlier than any of us were to ever imagine. she wanted to traverse the bustling markets, dance in the festivals, and count the stars by the shore...”
“What happened to her?”
“What happens to all of us, at the end of it all. That day, she asked me to count the stars for her, and so I did.” He recounts as his voice grows quieter. “I counted until the stars waned completely, overpowered by the rosy, golden pillars of the sunrise.”
As they allowed silence to envelop them, Zhongli’s gaze tries to find Lumine’s through the mirror, but instead, he finds glassy, amber eyes looking downwards as tears continued streaming down her cheeks.
“’Lumine, my heart.” He rushes to her side and kneels next to her, both hands cupping her cheeks as he wipes away at the tears that seemed neverending. “Lumine, I apologise. I shouldn’t have...”
“No, no...” She places her hands on his and closes her eyes, tears beginning to flow faster than before. “No... I’m sorry.”
“What for?”
“I’m sorry... I’m sorry that I made you promise that you would find me. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have...” She trailed off, and soon enough no more words left her mouth - instead, desperate sobs of anguish and fear replaced them. “You loved her. You loved her and I...”
“Lumine.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I fell in love with you. I’m sorry I made you promise that you’d find me in every reincarnation, I...” She continued in between cries, her fingers now holding on to Zhongli’s palm tightly, despite the tears and the words. “If I had known... If only I had known...”
“Lumine, please.”
Zhongli’s tone was a little more stern this time as he interrupts her. He felt her grip slightly weaken as she looked upwards, and he meets her teary eyes once again.
But when their eyes meet, he could see hers widen in surprise.
How could she not, after all?
How could she not be surprised, when his own are now almost as glassy, almost filled to the brim with a fear that transcends words?
“Zhongli...”
With that whisper of his name, he feels her grip on his hands weaken, and in the next moment he feels a familiar warmth on his cheeks. With tears still trickling down her cheeks, she presses her forehead against his.
“I’m sorry.”
“No.” He wipes the tears from her cheeks once again before letting his hands fall onto her lap. “Don’t.”
“If I had known...”
“Lumine.” Zhongli calls out to her once again, his heart shattering into pieces when he watches her lower her gaze, refusing to meet him at equal grounds once more.
When she pulls away from him, he feels the lingering ghost of what once was, a warmth that has now become a memory, a fear that now manifests itself as claws from the pits of his stomach that were now grabbing onto his heart, keeping it caged behind a firm grip that robs him of the air in his lungs.
“I would have... I promise, I would have let you...”
“No, Lumine, please. My heart, please.” He interrupts once again. “It would not have changed a thing.”
At that, Lumine falls silent before gently shaking her head, amber eyes still refusing to meet his golden ones.
“You wouldn’t know that.” She whispers. “I want you to be happy, Zhongli. You don’t have to find me in my next life, I promise... I won’t...”
This time, Zhongli’s gaze falls to the floor. As silence found its way to them once again, uncertainty lurking in every corner and filling every nook and cranny, there were no more whispers, mumbles, or pleas.
There was only a weak sob, followed by a gentle hiccup.
As Zhongli stands up, he watches Lumine quietly turn to the side to face the mirror once more, eyes still fixed on the floor. Her hands were now on her lap, curled into a fist with pale white blooming on her knuckles.
Zhongli takes a step back and stands behind her chair.
“Do you remember the peach blossoms that we had first met under?” He asks, though he does not expect a response.
However, he receives one anyway - he watches as she nods in response.
“In that lifetime, after I had promised you that I would find you on the day of your passing... I returned to that tree.”
Zhongli walks towards the large dark brown shelf in their room, and takes with him a black, oval box with elaborate silver carvings and a red knot tied on the very end.
“I picked a few of its blossoms, had it dried, and ever since then, I’ve always kept it with me.”
When he returns to Lumine, she was eyeing him curiously behind her tears. He opens the box and reveals a double stringed hairpin, separated into two parts with peach blossoms lining its very end.
“In your second life, when I found you... I gave this to you.” He places the box on the desk and takes the hairpin, piecing them together until he hears a soft click. “But when you knew that it was your time to go, you split it before returning it to me as is.”
Lumine’s eyes widened upon hearing it.
“You said then that you didn’t need a keepsake. That you would always find your way back to me, and I to you.” He says. “And in every lifetime, you would always remember how much you love me, even if it was our first time meeting again.”
“...I didn’t know back then.” She shakes her head. “I didn’t know about Guizhong.”
“Even if so, nothing would have changed.”
He looks back at her. Unable to resist the smile that formed on his face when finally, finally she was looking at him once more, he walks towards her.
“I cannot hide the shock that must have overcome me when I finally saw her again, but I do know one thing.” He lifts the end of her braided hair and gently twists it into a bun. “I do know that no matter what, I would always look for you. I do know that no matter what, it has always been you. I do know that no matter what, you are the one that I want to be with.”
Then, as he tucks the end of the braid under the bun, he inserts the hairpin in place and lets it settle within her golden strands.
“I do know that at even at the end of my lifetime, you are the love that I have chosen, and always will.”
He looks at Lumine through the mirror, and with a smile, he places his hands on her shoulders.
“And although I’ve lived and I’ve loved, they are lives and loves that have long since passed.”
Lumine looks upwards to look at him, and her eyes fall on the hairpin that was now placed on her hair, the glistening pink reminding her of the enduring, stalwart love that he had always had for her.
No matter what.
“Because I date my life, my beloved, from the day that my heart bloomed as brightly and vividly as the peach blossoms that I saw you under for the very first time.”
-
They say that the heart can never forget its first love.
But after a thousand lifetimes, Zhongli knows that ultimately, it was the grief of an unjust parting that had made him pause where he stood, linger where there were footsteps that sounded familiar to him, and mouth a name that was once unfamiliar to her.
With loss, comes grief, and with it comes an everlasting yearning that seems to last for decades, if not lifetimes. An emptiness that makes him wonder if he was better off on his own, wandering without a destination nor a companion.
Yet despite it all, when he met her on that fateful day under the peach blossom tree, his heart mouthed an oath that he did not dare name yet.
Ultimately, as he learned her name, he learned how to say it syllable by syllable, almost like trying to learn a new language. The name itself lingers in his lips under a full moon, where the north star twinkled every time her name left her lips.
Every single time he said her name, he felt hope rise anew. Slowly, he felt that was being rid of the shackles that bound him to lives and loves long past - a rebirth that brought him back to life.
Despite all of his lifetimes, despite his immortality, the day of his rebirth was always the day that amber eyes met golden orbs.