Chapter Text
For as long as anyone could remember, there was a lone house near the edge of Jueyun Karst.
It was a difficult place to find. No road led there, and even when someone did stumble across it, they almost didn’t recognize it was there with all the cliffs and sandbearer trees keeping it in shade.
“It’s peaceful,” Auntie Shenhe had told him, but while she was calm it had not been peace in her gaze.
“But?” Chongyun had prompted.
“But it feels wrong,” said Shenhe.
It was something of a rite of passage in their clan to track down this house and survey it for evil energies. This wasn’t enforced by any elders; if anything it was more like the ‘tests of courage’ that regular civilians sought at Wuwang Hill. It was simply that the house’s existence was made known to the younger crowd—no other identifying details—and those who were passionate went looking. Chongyun had learned of it when he was thirteen, and now spent four years searching for it in between other attempts at more professional exorcisms. The more time passed, the more desperate he felt.
Chongyun was blessed—cursed—with a great wellspring of yang energy.
When his parents found out they’d been overjoyed; yang energy was a demonic deterrent, and for him to have so much, it would surely assist him as an exorcist. But all things needed balance, and he had none of that in his energy. His yang trembled forever at a threshold, ready to rush through his veins at the slightest provocation, and it was unbearable. The slightest hint of Jueyun chili in a dish could send him into a fever, mind melting into stupid incoherence like the worst of drunkards, and every time he’d make a scene. There tended to be a lot of property damage. The only positive on that was the fact that he was apparently “a happy drunk.” Still, every time it happened there would be new laughter and stories on the bulletin boards, and he would make his repayments for damage and hang his written apologies with great shame.
All through childhood his clan had coached him in meditation and other calming techniques, and while that helped, his greatest boon was his Cryo vision.
Rex Lapis and the Tsaritsa be blessed, he’d think, and instead of being thrown into a tailspin by a sunburn, his Cryo would literally freeze the yang energy in its tracks. It was an instant cooldown! The Cryo vision was far from solving all of his problems, but it allowed him to venture outside and talk to other people without living every second paranoid of a flareup.
(He pitied whatever alternate version of himself might’ve gotten a Pyro vision instead. Ugh. Some possibilities were too terrible to ponder long.)
But Cryo could only go so far. It couldn’t push the yang back from its threshold, just keep it from tipping over, so he was still stuck with the fact that any ghost or demon fled as soon as they sensed his presence coming.
Isn’t that a good thing? his parents had asked.
They didn’t understand.
Chongyun had thrown his all into the clan’s thaumaturgy. It was their pride, their legacy, and he desperately wanted to be part of it… but no matter what forms or sutras he learned, he could never apply them to anything. The ghosts were always gone. He was always left sitting uselessly in the middle of what should’ve been a haunting, with no target! His clients raved about how amazing he was, but the compliments only made him feel sick. He hadn’t done anything. He didn’t deserve the praise. He wanted to test his mettle against true evil, not another bumbling hilichurl. What if he was doing everything wrong and never got the chance to realize it? What if one of his younger cousins asked him to teach them, only for him to bungle it and get them hurt? How could he possibly carry on a legacy that he never used?
His older family members knew he was useless. His siblings and cousins chatted with him just fine normally but when exorcism came up, they disregarded him as easily as they did the toddlers in the clan. There was nothing to learn from him. Nothing worth teaching him, either.
“You’re making this a much bigger problem than it is,” Shenhe had told him once. “You’ve seen the proof of your work against all other manner of beast in Liyue. It will work on ghosts and demons, too.”
Yes, maybe Chongyun was constantly overthinking, but he wanted something in common with the rest of his family.
If he couldn’t have a ghost, then he would find the house.
“Remind me again, my liege, what is it that we’re looking for?” asked Xingqiu in the here and now.
“A house,” Chongyun grunted, searching for a better foothold as he scaled one of the smaller cliffsides.
“You’ve mentioned,” said Xinqiu, dryly but with humor. “What I mean, dear Chongyun, is what kind of house is it?”
“The kind with a door,” said Chongyun.
He could practically feel the exasperation radiating from the ground, and paused his climb to look down. Xingqiu remained on the grass, hands on his hips and brow quirked. His expensive silk clothing looked out of place against the technically-forbidden wilderness of Jueyun Karst, but Xingqiu never minded the state of his silks no matter the terrain or weather. Normally he’d be climbing just as fast as Chongyun, but it seemed today he was in a more teasing mood.
“What size is this house?” asked Xingqiu.
“I don’t know,” said Chongyun.
“And what material is it made of?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, how will you know if it’s the house we’re looking for if we do find a house?” said Xingqiu.
“I’ll know,” said Chongyun with confidence.
Xingqiu sighed and reached out for his own handhold. “They really sent you out with no description at all, didn’t they?”
“No one sent me,” Chongyun corrected, “and I do have some details. It’s on its own, away from the road, hidden by sandbearer trees.”
“We’ve passed many ruins that would match that description. Are you sure none of them was what we were looking for?”
“No. Shenhe said this place felt wrong even when no ghosts were there.”
Shenhe was the most talented exorcist in the clan—of course she was, when she’d been raised by Adepti for most of her childhood—so if even she was unnerved by the house’s presence, once he found it, it would surely be undeniable.
After several minutes they crested the little cliffside and rolled onto lush grass again. The terrain in this area of Jueyun Karst staggered almost like uneven stairs and the outcroppings made good break spots. While Xingqiu poked at a sprig of berries Chongyun took a map from his bag and reviewed it again. The map was old, worn ragged at the edge, splotched with rainwater and melted Cryo from expeditions past, and most of it was covered in marks of red ink.
“I’ve been looking for four years, now,” said Chongyun, eyes roving over all the places he’d crossed off. “Not every day, and certainly not closely enough to anger the Adepti, but unless it’s right under one of their territories there aren’t many other places it could be.”
“I feel as if protected by angry Adepti might be a more pertinent description than hidden by sandbearer trees,” said Xingqiu.
Chongyun nodded. “Exactly. Therefore it must not be near them. No one else in the family would dare disturb the Adepti, and there’s been no retaliation no matter how many of them have gone.”
“Yes, surely if it were hidden near Mount Aocang and had Cloud Retainer—”
Xingqiu cut off sharply, one arm shooting out for Chongyun’s sleeve. Chongyun followed the motion even before he began to pull, fast and alert. They plastered themselves to the cliffside just in time for an eerie light to flood over them.
A falling star cut through the sky with a rattling hiss, a lurid purple shade with a trail of twining blue that left a sickly cast over the world in its wake. The sight made Chongyun’s mouth go dry, and he pressed harder against the rocks. Even if the star wasn’t near touching them, it was far too low to the ground and he could feel the drain of it even from here. They watched it disappear over the ridge to their right, and it made impact somewhere out of sight; they could feel the earth shudder under their feet.
“Rex Lapis preserve us,” Xingqiu whispered. “I’ve never seen one of them so close.”
“We’re outside of its area of influence,” said Chongyun, but didn’t relax. “As long as we don’t get too close, we’ll be fine.”
Death by falling star was a very real and terrifying possibility. The stars had been falling for over a century now, but even with their dangers well known, countless unlucky passersby had gone too close to them. Being on the periphery of a downed star’s location made people dizzy and lethargic. If anyone walked too close or, Celestia forbid, touched the star, they’d fall into an eternal, restless sleep. No one—human, god, or Archon—had ever been able to break the sleep spell. It was a death sentence. The Adeptus Cloud Retainer had engineered equipment to allow the stars to be moved without killing their cleanup crew, but still, even the Adepti circled the stars with all caution.
“I suppose it might be lucky for it to fall here,” said Xingqiu. “I’m sure the Adepti will have it taken care of within the hour…”
Chongyun’s eyes narrowed. He was still eyeing the ridge, and even with that star out of view he could feel some kind of unnerving premonition. Surely it had landed distant enough… Oh.
At the base of that ridge, on the far end of the outcropping they stood on, there was a cluster of sandbearer trees.
“There!” he whispered, and beelined for them.
“What? Chongyun, the star—”
“I’m not after it! I’m approaching slowly!”
He paced himself to better be able to track any lethargy, but none appeared. The source of his foreboding was indeed a house shadowed among the trees, and he stopped short to marvel. He’d found it! He’d really found it!
Xingqiu paused behind him, looking up and down at the wooden walls and thatched roof.
“My liege, you were correct,” he said. “This is indeed the kind of house with a door.”
Chongyun scowled and jabbed an elbow into his side. “Must you ruin this?”
“I’m simply saying, your description was correct!”
Chongyun groaned and made for the door.
To say the house was dilapidated was putting it lightly. The boards of the walls had come apart, looking much like matchsticks propping up the building’s frame, while the thatching was so bad the shadow of sandbearer leaves danced over the grass of the floor. Nothing was inside—no sign of previous ownership, no sign of anyone else having visited, but that feeling remained.
“Xingqiu, do you sense anything?” asked Chongyun, because he wasn’t sure if it was his own senses leading him astray again.
“There is a certain… oppressiveness in here,” said Xingqiu.
“So you do feel it too?”
Xingqiu nodded thoughtfully. “It isn’t dizziness. I don’t think it’s the star. It’s more as if we aren’t welcome here, and something is watching us to make sure we leave.”
“Well said,” Chongyun murmured, casting around for anything interesting.
If that hostile watcher was an Adeptus then Shenhe at least would’ve recognized it. What a mystery this was. His family had always described this house as being empty, strange and unknowable, but surely the answers were somewhere. Maybe there was a demon in here that no one had rooted out yet. Chongyun studied all the boards in the walls as if a ghost might be hiding in any of the grains. Houses did not feel bad like this for no reason! The answer must be here!
The scouring of the building took something like two hours.
At first Xingqiu studied their surroundings with the same zeal as Chongyun, but eventually his late night of novel reading caught up to him; he sprawled on a rock in the corner of the house, today’s novel draped over his face like an ungainly sleeping mask.
Chongyun picked at the splintered boards, near defeat but still stubborn about it.
Really, if something was here, Shenhe would’ve picked up on it. He should’ve known better than to expect a haunting to fall into his lap. Absentmindedly he began to trace a discolored patch of wood. If he turned his head and pretended hard enough, it looked like a deformed version of the Geo symbol. If only something so clear were here as a clue… His finger trailed where he imagined the lines would be, while his thoughts traveled back to the harbor. Maybe if they left soon, they’d be able to go to Wanmin for dinner. Xiangling was supposed to be back from gathering ingredients today, and if she wasn’t, well, that was just one less person conspiring to make him eat hot food…
His musing was cut short by a squawk of surprise. Chongyun startled and whipped around. Xingqiu made another squeaky noise, but by the time Chongyun laid eyes on him he was lying in a heap next to the rock.
“Did you, uh, fall down?” asked Chongyun.
The rock was very short. He wouldn’t have expected Xingqiu to be so rattled to roll off of it.
“It tried to take out my tailbone!” cried Xingqiu.
“It… what?”
Xingqiu scrambled to his knees and started inspecting the stone. “You didn’t see it? It went down! Then up!”
“The rock did?”
“Yes! There must be some kind of Geo mechanism at play here…”
Chongyun would normally disregard this as another practical joke, but Geo?
“Hang on,” he said, doubling back to the worn patch he’d been attending to earlier.
He traced the lines of a Geo symbol again, watching the rock as he did, and to his astonishment it transformed. Instead of a rugged stone, there was a pressure plate in the corner of the house.
Xingqiu let out a delighted laugh. “It is a Geo mechanism! My dear Chongyun, we could be detectives.”
He stepped on it, and a moment later a wide, dark opening appeared in the middle of the house, complete with descending staircase.
“No one ever mentioned stairs!” said Chongyun, thrilled. “This— It’s new!”
Xingqiu gestured grandly for Chongyun to go first and said, “Then let’s explore!”
Chongyun lit a small lantern (he always came prepared for any potential hunt) and led the way down.
They found themselves in an old cellar. The walls had been carved out and reinforced with brick, and on the far wall was a series of shelves filled with glass bottles. In the middle stood a wooden table with two chairs—one was turned aside as if someone had just risen from it, while the other had fallen backward onto the floor. Some more bottles sat empty on the table itself, a few more had fallen to the floor, but among them and the melted wax of candles long gone was a large teapot. It was… unique. It had the shape of a Liyuen teapot, but atop its black shape had been painted gold accents and a vividly bright mess of floral designs that screamed Snezhnaya.
“That’s an interesting one,” said Xingqiu, stepping closer to inspect it. “A teapot, but no teacups to go with it…”
“Do you feel the presence here?” asked Chongyun. “It’s stronger than it was above ground.”
“Oh? Then maybe the source is down here.”
Chongyun would finally be going home with bragging rights. He’d found a trapdoor, and all signs were pointing toward some kind of malevolence that hadn’t run away from him yet. Would this finally be the day? Would he finally be able to exorcise something? He lifted the lantern to get a better look around, and the air caught in his throat.
There was a hunched figure in the shadow of the stairs. He hastened for it, mind immediately cataloguing the small appearance as he reached for the stranger. Short, dark hair. Sickly pale skin. A kimono. What was someone from Inazuma doing here of all places?
“Excuse me, sir, are you alright?” he asked, catching the stranger by the shoulder. The stranger didn’t reply. He wavered at the touch and then completely collapsed. Chongyun scrambled to catch him. “Sir, what—”
And then he stopped, because it wasn’t a person.
The figure was a doll. It was unnervingly lifelike but had been formed from some kind of ceramic; when its head lolled, it was with a rasping, squeaky type of sound that made goosebumps rise on Chongyun’s arms. Its eyes were closed and its handsome face blank as if in sleep. It was honestly really creepy.
“Oh, my,” said Xingqiu, peering over his shoulder. “What is that?”
“That’s my question,” Chongyun grumbled, laying the doll delicately on the ground. “Who makes a doll like this and leaves it in a cellar in Jueyun Karst?”
“Hm, perhaps the doll is our quarry,” Xingqiu said with a sneaky smile. “Imagine! The curse of an abandoned puppet, so deep in resentment that it seeks to steal the souls and puppet the bodies of all those who come across it!”
“Y-you think so?” said Chongyun, eyeing the doll a little more nervously.
“I jest,” said Xingqiu, and Chongyun scowled again.
“That’s not funny.”
“It’s a little funny.”
Chongyun let go of the doll with a grumble. Rationally he knew that the doll wasn’t a threat. It wasn’t the thing emanating the near-hostility in the room. But, he realized, it had been close to the source. The doll had been hunched over a large, black lacquer box on the ground.
“This,” he murmured, picking it up. “This… It’s interesting.”
Chongyun set it gently down on the table. He traced a finger down the seam along the middle, reaching out with power. Something prickled at his touch. Something foreign. Something bad. Was it a demon or a ghost, at long last? Excitement clogged his throat, but it was tempered by dread. Whatever evil spirit could withstand his aura must be truly powerful… and Xingqiu was right here.
“Stay behind me,” he ordered.
The steel in his tone wiped the smile from Xingqiu’s face. Xingqiu drew his sword and stepped behind him without question, poised for a strike and vision glowing in anticipation. Good. Chongyun held out his left hand and activated his own vision. A glowing talisman appeared in that outstretched hand, the shadow of icy swords manifested in their periphery, and the room dropped several degrees in temperature. Whatever this box contained, he was ready for it.
He flicked up his free hand and the box opened: the lid split in two and fell away to show a game board. It was finely crafted. In its center lay a circular glass, like an oversized, dead vision with the familiar Liyue frame. From the glass’ sides wound the game’s pathways, twining together in a strange knot before trailing to the corners of the board.
Four jade carvings formed the pieces. Two of these jade figures, still in the corners on their starting places, seemed not to be finished; they might’ve been something, but the other two pieces were distinct. The tiger was five spaces down along its trail, while the dragon was six spaces along.
Chongyun waited, but none of the pieces moved. The malevolent energy he’d sensed had plumed upward like a cloud of dust but otherwise faded. It was the game board alone that held that evil presence, and it didn’t seem interested in coming out. Cautiously he shifted, peering at the box’s sides. When it still failed to react, he grew a little braver in his investigations and stepped closer to poke at it.
“What do you observe, my liege?” said Xingqiu.
“It appears to be a cursed object,” said Chongyun, frowning at the glass. He’d seen dead visions before and they never failed to unnerve him. “Whatever its curse is, it appears to be active, but it’s restrained. It’s operating on rules.”
“Ooh, and do I spy those rules?” said Xingqiu, some of his humor returning as he stepped in, too. He leaned to view the inside of one half of the lid. There was indeed old Liyuen script painted inside it; luckily Chongyun’s exorcist upbringing and Xingqiu’s historical bookworm tendencies meant they were both able to read it easily. “A game for those who wish to find a way to leave their world behind. You roll the dice to move your token. Doubles gets another turn. The first to reach the end wins.” He brushed his fingers along the lacquer panel below those words, then pried at it with more purpose. A hidden lid swung up, and out of its small hiding place he plucked a set of ancient dice. “A game indeed,” he chuckled.
But Chongyun’s eyes were glued to the other half of the lid, and the other half of the instructions. “Participants beware: do not begin unless you intend to finish. The exciting consequences of the game will vanish only when a player has reached Liyue Millennial and called out its name. Consequences. This is a game with repercussions.”
“Magical repercussions…” Xingqiu mused. “Chongyun, do you think perhaps this is a penalty game?”
Penalty games were an old Inazuman tradition: a duel in game form, where the loser suffered magical torment. Chongyun had read about penalty games enacted with things as simple as rock-paper-scissors, and others where the host fashioned something as expensive and ridiculous as a twelve-way board game battle royale.
“It’s possible,” Chongyun murmured. “The curse must be fueling the penalty. It can’t be banished without the game being played.”
“Whoever the players were meant to be, they must’ve been powerful,” said Xingqiu, setting down the dice. “A penalty game is a one-time item, and to have spent enough to make it this beautiful—”
He paused. Frowned. He’d attempted to pick up the tiger piece, but it didn’t move. He tried a little harder, but it stayed still as if it weighed as much as a mountain. Frustrated, he tried to shake it; the box rasped back and forth on the tabletop, but the tiger remained stubbornly on its square.
“What on earth…”
Chongyun sucked in a sharp breath and seized Xingqiu’s arm. One of the other pieces had begun to move. Slowly, slowly it dragged along its path, and as it did its blank sides began to take shape. By the time it halted on its sixth square, it had taken the form of a rabbit.
“I… don’t suppose there are ghosts nearby still keen on playing this?” said Xingqiu.
“No,” said Chongyun. “There’s no presence beyond the board itself.”
A terrible thought occurred to him, and he eased Xingqiu’s hand and its voluminous sleeve away from the board. When Xingqiu had set down the dice, they’d faced up with a four and two. A total of six.
“The game thinks you rolled the dice,” he whispered.
“Ah,” Xingqiu said faintly. As always, though, he remained calm under pressure. “I suppose this gives us a chance to see a penalty game in action. As I understand, it’s a once in a lifetime opportunity—”
“Please tell me you’re not treating this as more book research,” said Chongyun, impressed but despairing at how easily he was accepting this.
“My dear Chongyun, why would I not treat this as research? I’m sure it’ll be invaluable for my next story.”
Before they could argue, the board reacted again. The glass began to swirl with color, coalescing into vibrant blue with a Hydro symbol, almost a perfect match for Xingqiu’s vision. The symbol’s lighter color then twisted into words.
THE SMALLEST BRUSH CAN YOU BEWITCH, MAKE YOU BURN, MAKE YOU TWITCH.
“Um,” said Chongyun.
“It doesn’t sound particularly pleasant,” said Xingqiu. “But I’m sure it’ll be—”
An abrupt building of elemental energy behind them made them instinctively move, just in time to dodge a burst of Electro. It caught the shelves instead, smashing several bottles. Whatever was inside had clearly been strong alcohol, because the supercharged stench was almost suffocating. Chongyun summoned his claymore from the ether and brought it down hard… straight onto the head of an Electro specter. Specters were small elemental enemies, more annoying than slimes but usually not much more of a fight. This one didn’t dissipate, though. It stayed intact under the claymore blade and crackled with more energy. Chongyun flinched back, and stumbled back still further when he realized a group of Pyro specters were closing in from the side.
“They’re everywhere!” Xingqiu hissed, fending off still more specters.
There had to be fifteen of the little monsters in the cellar with them now, and more were blooming out of nowhere. Soon there would be no maneuvering room at all. Chongyun gritted his teeth and drew one hand sharply down. The ghostly ice swords that had been lingering at the perimeter crackled into full physical being and slammed into them. The stricken specters bulged, prime to self-destruct.
“Get above ground!” he snapped.
Xingqiu didn’t need telling twice. He sped up the stairs with Chongyun behind him, out the door of the house and onto the grass. The ground shook under them again with the detonation of the first few specters, but that didn’t stop them. More flooded out of the cellar, a choking cloud of elemental power. Grass caught fire. The house groaned and tipped. The teenagers backed up further, gaping as the specters rose up like a big pack of Windblume balloons… and then the specters dispersed, shooting off in all directions. In seconds they were all out of sight.
“Well, I can’t say I expected that,” said Xingqiu. “Did they really just—”
“Scatter? Yes,” said Chongyun, but he was distracted.
It was really a punishment game. It was a punishment game, and Xingqiu was bound to it. Why hadn’t Chongyun kept him further back? Why hadn’t he stopped it from happening?
“Don’t look so glum,” said Xingqiu. “I’m the one who went touching cursed objects without enough caution, you had no power over that. Besides, if a few pesky specters are all this game can throw at me, I won’t even break a sweat.”
He smiled like nothing was wrong. He always did, when it came to important things. He could tease and lie and run his friends in circles with his jokes, but when it mattered he always shouldered the burden and supported everyone around him to the bitter end. If anything happened to him, Chongyun would never forgive himself. But there was still something Chongyun could do right now. He stormed back down the stairs.
“What are you doing?” asked Xingqiu, close on his heels. “Is that— Chongyun, stop!”
Chongyun did not stop. He gathered the dice and cast them down onto the game board. Both of them landed on ones. The last unmarked jade figure advanced two squares and took the form of a cat.
“Why did you do that?” Xingqiu hissed. “You knew what it meant—”
“We don’t know what this game is capable of,” Chongyun interrupted. “You’ve been tied into its curse. We don’t know that those specters are the only ones that will manifest. If you remain tied to this, what if they keep appearing for the rest of your life without warning? What if there are consequences for you not taking another turn? What if the game drains you to support itself? There are too many risks.”
“You’ve brought those risks on yourself now, too!” said Xingqiu.
“I was already prepared for risks when I set out to find a curse this morning,” said Chongyun. “I will accept them gladly.”
Xingqiu groaned and rubbed at his temples. “You’re always too rash when it comes to hunting demons…”
Chongyun refused to apologize for that. Instead he pointed at the rules again. “Judging by the appearance and the rules, this penalty game’s purpose wasn’t to torment a loser but to provide a thrill for its participants. The consequences disappear when someone wins, therefore no pain, ‘loss,’ or penalty will apply if we finish the game. Reaching Liyue Millennial will break our ties to it, and by the one-time nature of a penalty game, the curse will disappear at the same time. You can’t play a game on your own, and I came here for an exorcism. Me playing keeps us both safe and happy.”
Xingqiu didn’t look particularly happy but he accepted the argument.
Meanwhile, the glass was reacting again. It faded to a much paler blue with the white snowflake emblem of a Cryo vision. The snowflake dissolved into words.
THIS WILL NOT BE AN EASY MISSION. FUNGI SLOW THE EXPEDITION.
“Fungi. Great,” said Xingqiu, and immediately snatched up the game.
“Wait, where are you going?” said Chongyun.
“Up, where we have room to move,” Xingqiu shot back. “Really, my dear Chongyun, couldn’t you have at least waited to roll until we were out of this silly cellar?”
“I! Well!” Honestly Chongyun hadn’t considered it that far. He shut his mouth and dashed after Xingqiu.
The first fungus appeared near the top of the stairs, and Chongyun smacked it out of the way with a swing of his claymore. Luckily it died far quicker than the specters had done, but unluckily there were far more awaiting them, seemingly having spawned in the closest open area. Chongyun leapt through the wreck of the old house and laid into them without hesitation, killing off three fungi with every sweep of his weapon. The crowd was so thick and the shrilling sound of all the enemies so loud, it was hard to discern anything beyond bursts of crystalline dust. Xingqiu didn’t hold back either; as soon as he was out in the open air, he kicked a floating Hydro fungus in its bubble, and the little beast went bouncing away like a ball; without even looking to see it go, Xingqiu turned and slashed with his sword, rending another and its bubble in half before smoothly shifting into a block that sent a whirling Pyro fungus rebounding with a jolt of Hydro. The Pyro fungus spun and landed upright. It let out a plume of fire. The wreckage of the house and sandbearer leaves above started to catch, but between Chongyun’s frosty aura and Xingqiu’s newly-activated Rainscreen any fires went out fast. They said nothing to each other, just kept powering through. Summoned enemies of every element went down before them. Then the dustcloud shifted like something big was approaching, accompanied by the sudden pounding of feet.
“Grounded shroom!” Xingqiu snapped.
The grounded Geoshroom that charged toward them was vastly overgrown; surely it rivaled the size of that rumored Jadeplume Terrorshroom! But no matter its size it was by nature a Geoshroom, and they’d fought such things near the border with Sumeru. In unison they stepped aside, and lashed with their blades as the fungus’ momentum kept it careening past them. Its legs were cut; it fell hard and skidded several feet, but even before it stopped they were upon it again, and off went its head. The corpse made a terrible sound before it too dissolved.
They looked around for the next wave, but it didn’t come. Slowly the crystalline dust settled, ghosting over all the damage their enemies had left on the collapsed house.
“I think that’s all of therm,” said Chongyun.
“Thank goodness!” said Xingqiu, and finally let his sword arm drop. “Do you think all of these fungus drops would be useful for Bubu Pharmacy, or do you think the penalty game messed with them?”
“I don’t think anything that comes from that game is trustworthy,” said Chongyun. “Maybe it opens a portal to pull these things from somewhere else, but I’m more inclined to think they’re formed from the curse itself.”
“I suppose Doctor Baizhu might be annoyed if we brought him curse dust,” said Xingqiu. He heaved a heavy sigh and swept off a spot to but the game board down. “How are you feeling? Up for another round, or do we need a break?”
“No, I’m ready,” said Chongyun.
He knelt down on the other side of the board and glared at the dead vision like he could scare it into obedience. Nothing happened. A minute passed.
“…Do you need a break?” Chongyun said awkwardly. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask before. I thought, with the way you phrased it…”
“…No?”
“Then why aren’t you rolling?”
Xingqiu blinked at him in surprise, then laughed. “It’s not my turn yet! Don’t you remember the rules?” He tapped at the open flap of the board. “You rolled doubles. That means you get another turn.”
Chongyun went pink. “…I knew that.”
“Sure you did.”
Chongyun rolled again. The dice landed on a three and a two. The cat figure advanced. The Cryo emblem appeared again before turning back to words.
HIS FANGS ARE SHARP. HE LIKES YOUR TASTE. YOUR PARTY BETTER MOVE POSTHASTE.
“That sounds significantly worse than a group of fungi,” Chongyun muttered. “What do you think it’ll be?”
“My first thought is Rishboland Tiger, but that seems too mundane for a penalty game,” said Xingqiu, rising to his feet. “Let’s see, something with sharp teeth that a normal person would run away from immediately…”
“Rifthounds,” said Chongyun, readying his claymore.
And in answer, a rift opened. It started as a black line through the air, thin as a needle, before expanding rapidly. And out from that portal…
“Oh, they have no right to grow that big,” Xingqiu whispered.
“Actually, I think that really does happen. I think that’s a Golden Wolflord,” said Chongyun.
The Golden Wolflord’s head and shoulders stuck out of the portal, and a terrible thing it was. Its sharpened snout was longer than Xingqiu and Chongyun put together, and its eyes glowed with malevolent glee. It gave a snarl, and a pack of howling riftwolves poured around it.
Luckily, Chongyun and Xingqiu knew how to deal with such things the same as they had with the other monsters; a trip to Inazuma for a book festival had included a run-in with rifthounds on a sightseeing day. So, Xingqiu knew to deploy his rainscreen around them both from the start and neither flinched as the wolves’ corrosive auras washed over them. This time they stuck together, relying heavily on their elemental reactions to freeze their opponents and pick them off decisively one by one. The rifthounds snarled and spat, but their rushes were blocked by the descent of Cryo swords, they were turned off course by bursts of Hydro, and it was made all the worse when Chongyun activated a frost field to crackle wide around them; all their opponents had to cross this line to snap at them, and every one of them froze and fell on impact. From there they were easy pickings.
The Golden Wolflord was displeased. Its teeth bared and it growled with each of its minions’ deaths. A few times if it saw an opening it would lunge forward, never completely out of its portal but close enough to snap at them. When it crossed into the frost field ice spread fast over its snout, and it had to retreat and gnash its teeth again to be rid of the chill. It always backed off just before Xingqiu could step in to freeze it.
A thundercraven went down with a particularly pitiful noise, and the remaining whelps howled with rage. They looked to the Golden Wolflord and clamored. The sound was harsh and inscrutable, but apparently it was a call for aid; the Golden Wolflord reluctantly left its portal in full. It didn’t have legs or claws like the others but floated over the ground like some skeletal dragon, wreathed in what looked like more shining golden wolf heads. It opened its mouth and shot a blast of concentrated Geo energy that the pair dodged quickly. The Wolflord flew overhead, just out of the frost field’s border, and kept blasting them with Geo in between its laughter. Clearly it thought they could only do damage on the ground.
“Let me weave you a verse,” Xingqiu hissed, and activated his raincutter ability.
Rainblades shot after it, striking hard between the sharp segments of the Wolflord’s body. It shuddered, snarled, and dove for him. At the same time Chongyun made a hand sign, and the frost field’s energy swept up to form a heavy, solid rimechaser blade, which came down on the descending Wolflord’s head like a guillotine. The hit was hard enough to drive the Wolflord heavy into the dirt, and the both of them struck without hesitation. The Wolflord hadn’t expected them to be so efficient or in tune with each other, and for a moment could only writhe in surprise. But it realized that the more time it delayed, the more freezing elemental effect they were pouring onto it. Two of its attending heads shattered under the assault before it came to its senses. The Wolflord rolled with more vigor and started tearing through the ground, snapping the ice that had sought to keep it immobile. Chongyun and Xingqiu chased its fleeing tail, and even when it finally became airborne again they kept hurling ice and rain blades after it.
The Wolflord gave another howl. The riftwolves bayed in answer and swarmed after it. The Wolflord sent them one last foul look before vanishing—still half encrusted in ice—back into its portal. In the next second it closed, and all the riftwolves were gone.
“And don’t come back!” Chongyun panted after them.
Xingqiu flicked his fingers and set yet another volley of rain blades around them to reverse any lingering corrosion effect. “Sense any other portals opening?”
“None yet,” said Chongyun.
They waited for several more minutes on edge, but there was no other sign of the riftwolves.
“I must say, I didn’t expect a Golden Wolflord to be so easy to drive off,” said Xingqiu.
“I suppose it’s the nature of a predator to give up if prey proves to take more energy than they’re worth,” said Chongyun. “I wouldn’t have expected that kind of natural sense from a penalty game’s effect, though.”
“Then perhaps they’re not gone in full?” said Xingqiu. “Simply biding their time until they think we’ve let our guard down?”
“Maybe. If they’re moving through rifts, we wouldn’t have any way of sensing them until they choose to reappear,” said Chongyun.
The idea was unsettling.
The pair of them settled in to wait, starting a small fire and pulling out the lunches they’d packed to recover some energy. The hours passed, and nothing happened.
“No activity even regarding the star,” Xingqiu mused, squinting at the ridge where they’d lost sight of the star’s trail. “I would’ve thought the Adepti would come for it by now.”
“Maybe it wasn’t the only one that fell,” said Chongyun. “They’d of course prioritize whatever falls near human activity. This deep in Jueyun Karst, they can delay because they don’t think anyone’s here to be affected.”
“Fair enough. It still gives me the creeps, though.”
“I don’t blame you.” Chongyun stood and did another survey of the area. Nothing was out of place. “I don’t think they’re coming back. Are you comfortable taking your next turn?”
“I suppose there’s no time like the present.”
Xingqiu grimly pulled the board closer and cast the die. They landed on six and four. They waited, but the rabbit didn’t move.
“It didn’t take this long the last few times, did it?” said Xingqiu. “Is it stuck?”
He prodded at the rabbit figure, but it was just as immovable as the tiger had been. The glass in the center changed color again, but this time it didn’t match either of their visions. Instead it swirled into lurid purple, with the crest of Electro.
“Oh, that’s not good,” said Xingqiu.
Did they need a source of elemental energy to fuel it? Or was it— Oh, no.
“It’s another player,” said Chongyun. The tiger and dragon were several squares in. Chongyun and Xingqiu had stumbled into a game that was already being played. “How… how do we figure out who the other two players are?”
“Or how long ago they started this game?” Xingqiu murmured. “For all we know, these could’ve been Adepti from thousands of years ago.”
They looked at each other in horror, and then back at the wreckage of the house.
The house among the sandbearer trees gave them no more clues than it had to any of Chongyun’s ancestors.
The table on Mount Aocang had once held three people.
In the modern age it held only two, but to have two at all was a mercy.
Liyue’s history—the wild formation, the Archon Wars, the Calamity, the starfall, and everything in between—was a grueling road that had taken many, many of their comrades. Even the powerful Yakshas had only one member remaining.
Xiao had silently vowed that the rank of Yaksha would never disappear. For as long as Rex Lapis stood strong—pained, grieving, but determined and there—Xiao too would stand strong against any threat to Liyue. There was still too much to do. Too much to repay. And maybe sometimes his karmic debt would drag him down as if he were wading through a physical swamp… and sometimes he would look tiredly up from the latest recovery of a fallen star and have to chase away the disappointment that he hadn’t let it slip him so peacefully into eternal sleep… but every time he would remember how Rex Lapis shrugged off his own exhaustion and rose to every challenge, and Xiao would do the same; he would crack his neck, roll his shoulders, face forward, and think, for Liyue.
It was hard to keep going like that without victories, but at long last, Xiao had found a clue.
“My lord,” he said, manifesting atop the sunset of Mount Aocang in a whirl of Anemo. “Please pardon my interruption, but there is something you and Cloud Retainer need to see.”
Both Rex Lapis and Cloud Retainer were seated at the stone table. The last seat, labelled here sits Guizhong, remained empty even though a filled cup of tea sat before it. Rex Lapis lowered his own cup slowly as Cloud Retainer snapped, “Must it be now? One invited the Prime Adeptus here for relaxation! Can we spare him not a single moment?”
Rex Lapis was very busy and did deserve rest, but Xiao plowed on: “Forgive me my lord, but you told me once that if I discovered anything like this it must be brought to you immediately.”
Rex Lapis’ eyes narrowed and he set the cup down fully. “Then I beg you to speak, Xiao. Is it—”
“It is,” said Xiao.
He set his burdens atop the table. The first was a spelled birdcage in which he’d trapped an Electro specter. The little monster batted itself against the bars, puffing itself up and deflating repeatedly as it tried to break free. In normal circumstances Cloud Retainer might scold him for bringing back such an odd souvenir from Inazuma, but her eyes widened and she leaned in to inspect it closer; she’d clearly noticed the same disturbance Xiao had. The second item had been wrapped in cloth, and he pulled this aside to show the heavy, fragmented claws of a rifthound. Rex Lapis extended a hand between the two, all the better to feel their strange energies.
“These carry the same energy as the fallen stars,” he murmured.
“Exactly, my lord,” said Xiao, bowing his head. “A star fell just outside of Jueyun Karst, and as I went out to mark the area, I noticed the energy spike nearby. When I followed it, I was able to find these.”
“Where?”
“In the northeast reaches of Jueyun Karst. It was…” He paused. Had to take a moment to swallow against his dry throat. “My lord, do you remember Menogias’ caches?”
The foremost of the Geo Yakshas, Menogias, had been a diligent man who took the evils of cursed objects just as seriously as a foe on the battlefield. He’d created many secret caches to seal what objects couldn’t be purified immediately, to allow their power to be broken away by crystallization with the pure Geo constructs he built around them. Some of his caches were well-known to the Adepti. Many of them he mentioned but declined to share the whereabouts of: as karmic debt claimed more and more of their ranks he’d feared that the cursed objects’ presence might interact with the karmic debt in a deadly way. There were a few, though, that he hid for personal reasons. Xiao would never forget the day Bosacious accidentally uncovered one of the caches to reveal countless collectable items in Rex Lapis’ image. No one could blame Menogias—all of the Adepti rightly revered their Prime—but he’d been terribly embarrassed.
“Yes, I remember them well,” said Rex Lapis.
“Not far from the star’s impact site I found one,” said Xiao. “It was at one time a house, and even with it destroyed I was able to see traces of the wards that turned away the attention of mortals. Inside that house was a cellar, and that cellar is the epicenter of the elemental spike.”
“What manner of item did Menogias seal there?” asked Rex Lapis.
“I don’t know,” said Xiao. “The cellar appeared to be set up as a storeroom, but it had been emptied of all but a table, chairs, and broken glass on the ground.”
“Treasure Hoarders,” Cloud Retainer hissed.
“And how do these monsters tie in?” asked Rex Lapis.
“Based on the state of the cache’s surroundings, they manifested inside the cellar and then escaped. The damage was very recent. I believe their release was triggered when the star passed over the cache,” said Xiao. “Of the specters I killed fifty-two and caught this one in addition. I hadn’t seen any others but judging by the elemental wake I believe more are out there. Several rifthounds had already been felled by the time I reached there, but I am wary of the remains I found. From what I was told once by Inazuma’s kitsune, rifthounds tend to travel in multiples of three. There weren’t enough remains to form a full pack.”
“How very dangerous,” said Cloud Retainer, angling her head to inspect the rifthound pieces. “One can immediately sense that this strange influence, so much like the stars, has strengthened these creatures. They will most certainly be deadly to Liyue’s people.”
“I will alert the Qixing to the threat and arrange hunting parties to track down any of the remaining monsters,” said Rex Lapis, standing. “Anyone unable to join the fight may investigate the Treasure Hoarders and determine if they are indeed the ones who carried away this cursed object. Xiao, since you have not mentioned so, I believe their identities are still a mystery?”
Xiao nodded regretfully. “There were too many conflicting elemental energies in the area. The trail of something human inside was completely lost, and they left no clues in the cellar itself besides the glass.”
“But they must have been present at the star’s descent in order to carry away the object,” Rex Lapis murmured. “It is possible that the activation was as much an unpleasant surprise to them as it is to ourselves. I suspect that they will wish to be rid of the object as soon as possible. They may already be trying to locate a buyer in the harbor.”
“Celestia knows there are enough fools willing to buy suspicious items,” Cloud Retainer grumbled.
“We will begin investigating immediately. If we wish to contain this curse, we cannot allow it to be carried far,” said Rex Lapis. “When we obtain it, might I trouble you to study it, Cloud Retainer?”
“Do not phrase such a thing as a request,” Cloud Retainer huffed. “One will of course be studying it! Nothing else has resonated with the fallen stars in all the years they have afflicted Teyvat. To understand what is so similar might allow understanding of why they are falling, how to stop them, and how to revive those unfortunate enough to have stumbled on them. One will not allow such opportunity to pass by.”
“We are blessed by your assistance,” said Rex Lapis.
“Truly,” Cloud Retainer preened.
“I will go to the harbor now and begin preparations,” said Rex Lapis, striding away from the table. “I will visit Moon Carver on the way and request him to rally the others for the hunt.”
“I will go first to mark the cache’s site. We will expand our search from there,” said Xiao, falling into step beside him.
“Enjoy your time clobbering invasive species,” said Cloud Retainer. “One shall begin studying these at once, and will send out the call as soon as one reaches a breakthrough.”
She lifted the cage and rifthound claws without touching them and used her Adeptal powers to float them after her, into her abode.
Rex Lapis paused at the edge of the mountain, looking out across the verdant expanse of Jueyun Karst.
“I do not remember any of Menogias’ known caches as a house with a cellar,” he said quietly.
Xiao bowed his head again and replied, just as softly, “It is among the caches we checked shortly after the disappearance. We believed it only to be a house. The cellar itself was very tightly bound, to shield itself even from an Adeptus’ eyes.”
“That one,” Rex Lapis said, still quieter.
That little house in disrepair had been considered a safehouse of sorts. Adepti would sometimes rest there if they tired on their journeys to or from Jueyun Karst. Barbatos himself had slept off a hangover on its grassy floor. Its uses became few and far between as Adepti vanished from the mortal world and Archons kept more to themselves. By the time Rex Lapis had shared its location with that person, it was a place guaranteed never to be disturbed.
When Rex Lapis spoke again it was barely audible. “Was there truly no trace?”
“None, my lord.”
At one time Xiao might have said that with haughtiness, but now it was with real grief.
He hadn’t gotten along well with that person. Blinded by hero worship, he’d been furious that anyone dared think themselves good enough for Rex Lapis’ affections, and had been childishly jealous at the difference in attention. It was impossible to miss how much Rex Lapis had cared, though. How much he still cared. If there was ever the slightest chance to dig up that person from wherever he’d disappeared to, Xiao would do it in a heartbeat. He would give anything now to sit those two together and bring the smile back to Rex Lapis’ face.
But as much as the Adepti were adamant that the stars had something to do with it, that person had disappeared even before they started to fall. By now they were all certain that nothing short of Celestia itself could bring him back.
“I’ll keep looking,” Xiao said anyway.
“Take care of yourself first and foremost,” Rex Lapis replied.
Xiao gave a short nod and launched himself into the air again.
He didn’t look back. He’d seen the hope dying out of his lord’s eyes more than once, and he couldn’t bear to witness it again.