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Beneath the pale moonlight on the border of the Guili Plains, Wangshu Inn towers high above the local topography. Its immense waterwheel creaks and groans, cutting through the silence of the night as a monotonous march towards eternity.
On the tallest balcony, level with the roof, a man sits among the leaves of the great tree, his hands folded around a cup of tea. An identical cup sits, steaming and untouched, across the round table.
It appears he is waiting for someone.
A foul miasma clings to the ageless skin of the last guardian yaksha as he drags his unwilling form ever onwards. As the long years drag on, the accumulated filth of curses and hatred that burdens him has settled deep into his bones, as a dull ache that never heals, and a whispering voice that never quite dies down. Usually, Xiao doesn't have to push himself to a breaking point anymore. Usually, the acrid karma he carries won't flare up, searing fire through his veins, dulling his senses and slowing his movements.
What a pathetic sight. The survivor of countless torments, the once-proud Golden Winged King, crouched at the steps of an inn, his lips pulled back in a fierce snarl. He looks neither divine nor human, but wretched, and small, and alone. If only it would rain, he thinks, allowing only three more breaths before standing with a stumble, if only it would rain, and if only the rain would wash away the skin from my bones, and then I would be clean.
Up, and up, and further up he climbs, each step bringing him closer to the sky. The winds blow softly, as if afraid to disturb this thing that could command them to stop with only a flick of his wrist. But he is too tired to make the winds stop. They don't bother him, anyways. If only the wind would blow me off the stairs, he thinks, I'd fall to the ground and shatter into hundreds of crackly little pieces. But the wind cannot fell an adeptus, so he keeps climbing.
As he reaches the tallest balcony, level with the roof, the pain has faded back to soreness, and he doesn't feel as wretched and disgusting. He no longer wishes for the wind and rain to destroy him, and he vaguely wonders if those thoughts were even his to begin with. A safe return to home has done him some good, as will the company he finds waiting at the top of the world.
The sovereign of stone sits waiting for his loyal companion, which in and of itself is nothing too strange. While he has assumed this most recent human form, he has made numerous visits to Wangshu Inn, often for reasons of no great consequence. What is strange about this visit, however, is the way that he traces his finger around the rim of his teacup, seemingly unable to sit completely still as he watches the small motion, his eyes occasionally flickering towards the doorway.
It appears he has something on his mind.
Xiao climbs the final set of stairs with his head held high, although his pace is slower than usual and his heart still pounds in his ears. The comforting creak and groan of the waterwheel helps to push the sound of screaming from his mind, and his footsteps regain some of their lightness as he reaches the final balcony, only mildly surprised to see someone there waiting for him.
Zhongli looks up at the adeptus in the doorway, his golden eyes reflecting the moonlight. He notes the yaksha's posture, the way his shoulders sag and his chest heaves, and he stands with a sigh, more fond then exasperated.
"O great warrior, what under Celestia have you been getting up to?" His tone is light, but the hands that come to rest on Xiao's waist are firm. Xiao shakes his head, eyes lowered. "Nothing of consequence, dìjūn. Please allow me to join you for tea."
The two adepti move towards the table, Zhongli's hand still on Xiao's back, as if escorting him the few steps it takes to walk across the balcony. They sit, and a profound silence falls over the table.
Zhongli takes another sip of his tea, and watches Xiao over his cup. Even to one who has borne witness to the secrets of the heavens, the yaksha is still ethereally beautiful. Delicate features hardened by battle and centuries of pain, yet Xiao is still kind. And it is because he is kind that he must hear of this matter from Zhongli, and from nobody else before he can explain the whole situation fully. But even though Xiao absolutely deserves to know, has to know, it still pains Zhongli to tell him of his decision. He will not be convinced to change his mind, nor does he really think Xiao would attempt to persuade him anyways, but he can only imagine how his resolve may waver, stone walls of his heart cracking, if Xiao were to plead with him in earnest.
He opens his mouth, and Xiao looks at him, expectantly. Words have never failed to present themselves to Rex Lapis, and so he begins, hesitantly, to approach the subject that he knows he must speak of tonight.
"The Rite of Descension is next month," Zhongli says, looking up at the moon. "It seems as though I have not lost track of time this year, perhaps because I have become somewhat accustomed to living in the harbour. Although my memory is as good as ever, a dragon considers the flow of time much slower than humans do. Even in this form-" he gestures to his mortal guise "-I still seem very much an adeptus at heart."
"You are the greatest of us," Xiao agrees, finally picking up his teacup. "It would be folly to expect an ancient being such as yourself to adjust to a human timescale in only a matter of months."
"And yet it seems I must adjust," Zhongli returns. "In fact, this is the very topic that I want to tell you about tonight." Traitorous feet, they tap against the wooden floor. He wills them still. Traitorous hands, they twist into unsightly knots in his lap. He folds them neatly onto the table top. Traitorous tongue. It feels like lead in his mouth.
"Next month, at the Rite of Descension," Zhongli says evenly, his heart beating loudly in his chest, "I am going to die, and Rex Lapis will cease to exist."
To speak his plan aloud made it real, and concrete. Although this was a decision that he had made a long time ago, countless hours spent debating with himself over the merits and potential consequences, revealing this plan to another living being still seemed rushed. Another thousand years to stew it over, then? He shook his head lightly, turning his attention back to the situation at hand.
Xiao sits perfectly still, shocked into absolute silence. His lips are slightly parted, and his eyes are wide, owlishly reflecting the moonlight. An understandable reaction, as it is not every day that one's commander calmly prophesizes his own death, and certainly not when the aforementioned commander is presumed to be immortal.
"A mora for your thoughts, dearest?" Zhongli asks gently, placing his hand in the center of the table. When he pulls it away, a single gold coin sits on the surface. Xiao takes it, and turns it over in his hands.
"Dìjūn, how can you be so calm about this?" He manages, staring down at the coin in his hands. "Is there no way to prevent this? Who would dare-" Xiao breaks off, raising his head to look into Zhongli's eyes again, searching desperately for more meaning to his words. He must have a million more questions, but he falls silent, pleading with his gaze for more words.
"Therein lies the issue," Zhongli agrees. "Who indeed, would dare to strike down Rex Lapis, on the day he appears to his people? I suppose we would have to define it as a suicide, then, and name me as the perpetrator." He shakes his head, a wry smile forming on his lips. "Although I did not seek employment with the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor to plan my own funeral, it does seem right that I should be the one to administer the last rites. An adeptus' passing is a monumental occasion, after all."
Xiao frowns, confused. "You speak as though you are a separate entity to Rex Lapis," he points out. "How is it that you would administer your own last rites, if you are dead and gone?"
Zhongli considers this for a moment, taking another sip of tea before responding. "I apologize," he says finally. "It appears that in my attempt to break the news as quickly and concisely as possible, I left out a few details that would be instrumental to your understanding." He holds a hand up, and Xiao's protest dies in his throat. "Allow me to say what I will, and then I will listen to your concerns, after I have attempted to explain myself."
Xiao huffs, and his little pout makes him look so cute that Zhongli wants to kiss him, but he has already committed to an explanation. He takes a deep breath to settle his thoughts, and launches into the speech.
"I told you that Rex Lapis would cease to exist," he begins. "This is the truest way that I can tell of my plan. Perhaps it would help to tell you of how this plan of mine came to be."
"To live on a human timescale means adjusting to new expectations. Humans expect the world of an archon, but comparatively very little from each other. Consequently, I find myself with much more time to simply enjoy the delights of the harbour than I would have anticipated. It was on one such leisurely day that I was walking along by the docks, observing how the sailors worked to load their ships full of cargo, preparing to set sail for foreign ports. And so it was, completely by coincidence, that I ended up close enough to hear one such employer say to the worker who had just set down the last crate: 'That's all for today. Go home and rest, your task is finished.'
"When I heard this," Zhongli continues, speaking down to his hands, "I could not help but think: have I, too, finished my task? What was the task I assigned to myself? When could I call it finished, if I was not sure of its nature? These questions echoed in my head as I returned home, and I began to answer some of the smaller ones as I looked out over the sea.
"The task I had given myself, thousands of years ago, when the war was newly won, was to build a city that would not need me to guide them through life, but instead govern itself, taking what I have to teach and innovating upon what they have. But Liyue can never be fully independent, unless its archon were to vanish, or similarly be removed from everyday life. So I devised a plan that would allow me to observe whether or not Liyue is ready to be independent of me, as I believe it to be.
"In other words," Zhongli says simply, "Rex Lapis will die, but the mortal man Zhongli will continue to live, for quite some time, as I watch the story of the adepti come to a close, after far too long."
Xiao is quiet as he considers this lengthy explanation. He takes a sip of tea. It's not gone cold yet, but it's only warm. "Why are you telling me this?" he asks. "If this is meant to be a test for all of Liyue, surely I should be a part of it?"
Zhongli shakes his head. "What I intend to test, and have thus hypothesized, is the people's-and the adepti's-loyalty to Liyue, independent of Rex Lapis. Will the harbour still function as it should, even if the Qixing become the ultimate authority? Will the adepti, who have retired to the mountains for the most part, still come to the aid of humans when they are needed? This is what I mean to observe. Although they will feel the pain of loss, I believe they can move past it quickly enough."
Here he pauses, and looks at Xiao with unmistakable admiration. "My most loyal general, my Xiao. You have already felt the pain of a hundred lifetimes. What cruelty, then, to demand you suffer more, all to test a loyalty that you have proven time and time again. Your residence here, if the innkeeper is to be believed, has brought you closer to the mortal population than any other adeptus, excluding those who live in the harbour itself. I know that you, of all beings, will continue to protect the land and people of Liyue, and therefore I see no reason that I must deceive you, even for a moment."
The moon is high overhead as the yaksha flushes pink from the praise. "Thank you for your generous words, dìjūn," he mutters, his voice trembling slightly. "I swear to you, as long as I draw breath still, I will defend the land you have entrusted to me. Nowhere on the plains, nor in the marsh, will evil spirits or monsters find safe haven. On my life and my honour, I swear you this oath."
Zhongli frowns. "I cannot accept such an oath. You would swear your life to a god at death's door? Two thousand years, we have known each other, and yet it seems I do not praise you enough, if this is how you would react."
Xiao blinks. "I'm sorry?" He watches as Zhongli gets up, and, mystified, takes his proffered hand, allowing himself to be led into a slow Mondstadt waltz.
With only the rhythm of the waterwheel to guide their steps, the two adepti twirled around slowly, on the tallest balcony, level with the roof. It was a simple dance, but with feet as light as clouds upon the wooden flooring, both dragon and phoenix seemed to float across the balcony, epitomizing grace. This dance was no performance meant for mortal eyes to witness, but instead a conversation that could never be written down.
Zhongli leads a dance much the same as a nation, with careful and decisive movements. He traces a lazy circle around the perimeter of the balcony, and ends with a low dip, where Xiao arches his back, and stretches his fingers out, imagining them grazing against the floor. Zhongli pulls him back up, and they stay for a moment, intertwined.
"My dearest, precious, a'Xiao," Zhongli murmurs, his voice low and solemn, as though proclaiming a vow. "Swift-footed, sharp-eyed, guardian deity of the Guili Plains. What would it take, I wonder, for you to see yourself with eyes unclouded by guilt, to witness and recognize your power and beauty?"
Xiao squeaks out a noise similar to a bird chirping. His face is flushed hot with embarrassment, unable to look up at Zhongli, who gazes upon him with something like reverence in his eyes. "Please, no more," Xiao begs. "You can't- I don't- why must you tease me like this?"
Zhongli hums, pleased. "Why indeed?" he agrees. "Perhaps it is because I so rarely am allowed to see you flustered, and you have the most adorable expression when you're embarrassed."
Xiao promptly covers his face with his hands. Zhongli laughs, and returns to his seat at the table, where the tea has gone cold. He takes a sip anyways. It's the principle of the thing, really. If the tea was brewed with care, it must be drunk, no matter how long you have forsaken it for dancing and good company.
"If the other adepti do not know of your plan," Xiao begins hesitantly, sitting down across from Zhongli once more, "What am I to say if they ask me of it?"
"You must say nothing until the test is complete," Zhongli advises. "In due time, I will reveal my schemes to those I call friends, but until that time comes, you should say as little as possible on the subject. The people of the harbour will see a corpse, but it is unlikely that the adepti will not. Ideally, you would appear disinterested in the possibility of my continued existence, but that might seem incongruent with the grieving process." He hesitates for a moment, then reaches across the table to cover Xiao's hands with his own, looking intently into the yaksha's golden eyes.
"I understand that this is a difficult thing I have asked of you," Zhongli says quietly. "But rest assured, this is the last time that I, as your archon, will order anything of you."
Xiao looks broken. Whether from the enormity of this task, or from the age-old debt he always carries catching up with him once again, Zhongli can't tell, and it saddens him that he does not know. That he hasn't spent enough time with Xiao to be able to know and name every facet of his existence. It's hardly the time or place for it, but Zhongli can't quite recall if he's ever seen Xiao smile.
"When all of this is over, please do seek me out," Zhongli says, standing up to leave. Xiao nods, staring into his half-empty teacup. He makes no motions to leave the tea-table as Zhongli descends the many stairs, back down to the earth, with the rain and the berries.