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The Yuheng of the Liyue Qixing died young. Her two decades of hard work for Liyue had chipped away at her years, many said.
As the news of her death spread, those who had benefited from her work–that was, almost everyone–stopped their activities and whispered amongst themselves.
Such a pity. She was so young.
We must be grateful for everything she has done for Liyue. For us.
Dad, what’s a Yuheng?
We will remember her name.
Oh Keqing, why couldn’t you listen to us and slow down?
Keqing herself, who had now left her body and was floating as a ghost amongst the streets of Liyue Harbor, didn’t mind. She had led a fruitful life. She had been ready for that outcome.
She had no regrets.
Wangsheng Funeral Parlor was buzzling with activity. Keqing’s ability to feel emotions seemed to have been numbed since she had died, but she still felt honored.
She floated through the walls, unnoticed by the employees, until she reached the room where her body was being prepared. She wasn’t surprised to find the 77th Director Hu Tao inside, along with her favorite consultant Zhongli.
Keqing stood in a corner and watched. Neither Hu Tao nor Zhongli seemed to notice her presence. Rumor had it that Hu Tao could see ghosts, but Keqing didn’t want to be seen at the moment. Without ever learning it, she knew she had to allow it for the living to notice her.
Hu Tao had an unusually serious expression on her face as she finished her task. Keqing wasn’t sure how Zhongli was helping her, as he just stood there and watched, but Hu Tao didn’t seem bothered by it.
Zhongli hadn’t changed much from the first time Keqing had seen him. The man had to be in his fifties now, but he still looked as pristine as he had twenty years ago. It was like time had no hold over him.
Keqing had known a few other people like him. For decades, they seemed immovable. And then, all of a sudden, their age started to show and their strength slowly declined.
Such was the fate of all humans.
“It is done,” Hu Tao said, her tone solemn.
Zhongli nodded just as solemnly.
In her lifetime, Keqing hadn’t been particularly close to either of them. It felt a bit weird to see them take care of her body in such an intimate way. They made a strange pair for sure: the eccentric director and her polite and well-mannered consultant, whose way of thinking was way too old-fashioned for Keqing.
“And now…” Hu Tao went to a side table and took something from a silk cloth. “It appears that Keqing had a special request for us.”
“Is that so?”
Neither Hu Tao nor Zhongli seemed surprised. Keqing could only assume that working at the Parlor would change the very definition of surprising quite a lot.
She was glad to be invisible right now. She remembered the request in question. It had been one thing to write it in her will, it was another to see it realized in front of her. She took a step backwards and hid inside the wall.
Hu Tao took the Rex Lapis figurine that Keqing had selected from her collection and delicately placed it on her corpse.
“She stipulated that it was to be hidden,” Hu Tao said.
“A most unexpected request coming from Lady Keqing,” Zhongli observed.
Keqing couldn’t blame him for the remark. For the public, she was one of the most impious Qixing to have ever ruled over Liyue. Very few were privy to her self-reflection collection of Rex Lapis memorabilia.
The piece she had selected was one of her favorites. At first glance, the sculpture seemed simple enough: a dragon resting on a rock, as if asleep under the sun. But on closer examination, the artist’s craft was revealed in the details of the scales and tail. Even the dragon’s eyes were only half-closed, as if he was still keeping a wary eye on his surroundings.
On Liyue.
It was just a sculpture, of course. But Keqing had come to appreciate over time Rex Lapis’ own hard work in shaping Liyue, and it was her way of honoring that.
“It doesn’t matter how weird the request seems,” Hu Tao said, her tone almost scolding. “Customer satisfaction is our priority.”
She straightened up, having arranged the figurine to her satisfaction. “There. I hope she will like it.”
Someone knocked on the door, and Zhongli went to open it. After a whispered exchange of words with the employee outside, he turned to Hu Tao.
“It seems that we have a guest,” he said. “Shall we meet her in the private room?”
“Of course,” Hu Tao said. “Who is it?”
It turned out that the guest was Ningguang. And the reason for her presence was one that made Keqing hide a little deeper in the room’s wall.
“I had it made by the same craftsmen who did my chess pieces,” Ningguang said, holding a small chess piece. A chess piece that looked like a dragon. “For obvious reasons, it couldn’t go with the chessboard, so I kept it in my private collection. I know Keqing liked it. I would like her to have it.”
Keqing remembered that chess board. Ningguang had it made to celebrate the humans’ victory over Osial, and it was a prized item in many houses. It wasn’t played with a lot, the rules being a bit too complicated for most people, but it still served its purpose: to market the might and glory of the new Liyue.
So of course, a Rex Lapis figurine couldn’t be there.
Hu Tao reverently took the figurine Ningguang was handing her. “Of course, Lady Ningguang. We will do as you wish.”
As Hu Tao brought the chess piece to Keqing’s body, Keqing took the opportunity to admire the item one last time. Yes, Ningguang definitely had great taste.
“I can hear you,” Hu Tao suddenly said.
Keqing watched her with wide eyes, hoping that she hadn’t caught her in the act, but Hu Tao was looking at Zhongli.
“I didn’t say anything,” Zhongli said, one eyebrow lifted.
“I can still hear you.” Hu Tao tilted her head. “It might not be a request from the deceased herself, but surely Lady Ningguang was like family to her. I’m sure Lady Keqing wouldn’t have minded.”
“I’m sure you’re right, Director.” Zhongli nodded his head in deference.
Another knock on the door, and this time Hu Tao went to open it herself.
“It looks like we have another esteemed guest,” she told Zhongli. “One of Keqing’s friends has come to speak with us.”
“Then let’s not make her wait any longer,” Zhongli said.
Keqing wanted to hug her friend as she saw her in tears over her death. Things being as they were, she could only hover around her and let Hu Tao and Zhongli do the talking.
“My condolences,” Zhongli was saying.
“Doctor Baizhu tried to warn her, but she wouldn’t listen,” Keqing’s friend said. “And now she’s gone.” She blew her nose in a silk tissue. “If she was still here, she would probably tell me not to spend my time crying, that life is too short for that.”
“I’m sure she wouldn’t blame you,” Hu Tao said soothingly. “Grieving is important.”
“Thank you.” Keqing’s friend cleared her throat. “I… I have a special request.”
“Of course. What is it?”
“Keqing… She had a collection of Rex Lapis figurines. For self-reflection, she kept saying. We… we bought a new one for her birthday, but…” Her breath itched. “We would like her to have it.”
Keqing watched the figurine. It was perfect. Handmade, and probably custom-made for her. The details of Rex Lapis’ tail were especially exquisite.
“We’ll make sure that she does,” Hu Tao said.
“Thank you.” Keqing’s friend bowed her head. “I’m counting on your discretion. She wanted her collection to be kept secret, even though I’m sure most merchants in Liyue Harbor know.”
“Discretion is part of our trade.” Hu Tao bowed in kind. “You have nothing to worry about.”
Keqing watched silently as her friend left, and Hu Tao added this new figurine to the two others on Keqing’s body.
“Who would have thought that the Yuheng was obsessed with Rex Lapis memorabilia?” Hu Tao said pensively.
“Indeed.” Zhongli stroked his chin. “She was full of surprises.”
Keqing disappeared into the wall, feeling the vaguest surge of embarrassment. If she had still been alive, she was sure that it would have been way more than vague.
Being dead had its perks.
The funeral ceremony went well. All the Qixing and their available staff attended it, some openly, others hidden in the huge crowd who had gathered to honor Keqing’s memory. Ningguang’s discourse was perfect as ever.
Keqing felt the genuine sorrow and grief of so many more people than she would have thought. It looked like she was more liked than she had believed.
And now it was time for her to leave. After the final goodbye had been addressed to her, Keqing started her very last journey.
She knew exactly where to go. As a member of the Qixing, she had accessed very private information, and the reality of the border between life and death located in Wuwang Hill was no secret to her, but she had a feeling that she would have known anyways. Maybe it was part of the regular ghost-package the dead received in Liyue.
As she came closer and closer to her destination, though, Keqing felt like her floating was becoming slower. It was like something was weighing her down, like she didn’t really want to cross the border.
It made no sense. Keqing had always lived her life without regret, and she certainly had none left.
Maybe what she needed was one last glance at Liyue Harbor, to remind herself of everything she and her compatriots had accomplished over the years.
Keqing floated to the top of a suitable mountain and watched her beloved city. She was proud of their efforts, of their successes. She had worked hard to make up for their occasional failures.
She looked at the sky.
What would Rex Lapis have thought of it? Would he approve of the changes?
Not that she cared. She didn’t. Not at all.
She had done everything she could. She had given it her all. Liyue Harbor was prospering under the humans’ rule, just like she had always known it would.
And it had happened during her lifetime. She had been given the opportunity to prove herself and she had seized it. Everybody had acknowledged how her hard work had contributed to shape the new Liyue.
Then what was this yearning she felt? What could she possibly desire that she hadn’t been given?
“Is something troubling you?”
Keqing turned around, slightly surprised. She had thought that she was alone, but obviously there were other ramblers here.
She recognized the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor consultant, Zhongli. It was a bit surprising to see him here, because there must still be a lot to be done at the Parlor. He was leaning against the rocks like he was made to fit here, his face as serene as ever.
Keqing looked for his conversation partner–Hu Tao, maybe?–but she didn’t find anyone.
Zhongli turned his head, watching her.
“Can you see me?” Keqing asked cautiously.
Zhongli nodded. “Yes.”
He didn’t seem surprised to be seeing a ghost, but again, he worked at the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor. Maybe it was business as usual for him.
“Ghosts can choose to make themselves visible to living humans,” Zhongli said, as if he could feel her uncertainty. “Even so, only a few will be able to see them. Director Hu is one of those.”
“I didn’t realize I had done that,” Keqing said. “My apologies.”
“There is nothing to apologize for.” Zhongli turned his gaze towards Liyue Harbor once more. “Stunning, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Keqing said. And then, because she couldn’t help herself, “I wonder what Rex Lapis would have thought.”
Zhongli smiled. “I’m sure that Rex Lapis would have been quite happy about what Liyue has become.”
“I’ve always thought faith was stupid, no offense meant,” Keqing grumbled. “How can you possibly know what a god would think?”
She half-expected Zhongli to start a long explanation about the origins of faith and its meaning in Liyue over the centuries–that man was a true fount of knowledge–but Zhongli merely laughed.
A deep, hearty laughter, one that stirred something inside Keqing.
All of a sudden, she was back on Yujing Terrace, watching a golden dragon laugh at her sudden outburst, and when she looked at Zhongli, she saw something different glinting in his golden eyes. Something non-human.
Keqing opened her mouth to ask, but her ghost form was like frozen.
“Yes?” Zhongli said, his voice full of laughter.
“You… You’re Rex Lapis,” she whispered.
“I’m not using that name anymore,” Zhongli mused.
“You’re Rex Lapis!” Keqing repeated, ghostly indignation slipping in her voice.
“Incognito,” Zhongli said. He was still smiling.
Keqing couldn’t believe it.
She had always considered the tales of Rex Lapis going incognito amongst mortals as mere legends, the wishful thinking of people who thought themselves important enough to be visited by a god. It hadn’t changed even after her view of Rex Lapis evolved, and she acknowledged that he had indeed done a lot for Liyue.
But now…
He had blended in like it was the easiest thing. He had fooled all of them for over twenty years. There was no way he could be that good at passing for human unless he had a lot of practice, or he had spent a lot of time watching them.
“I thought… I thought you only descended upon Liyue once a year,” Keqing said, feeling stupid. And furious. And…something else.
“Hmm,” Zhongli said. “Even I know that humans change faster than that.”
“You’re a consultant at Wangsheng Funeral Parlor,” Keqing insisted, as if saying it aloud would make it more comprehensible.
The name of his occupation reminded her that he had contributed to her funeral ceremony, and that he had…
The figurines. He had seen the figurines, he knew she had bought memorabilia of him. Enough that it had been in her will, and that two separate sets of people had considered it an appropriate parting gift for her. Even though she had always been openly hostile to Rex Lapis still ruling Liyue.
Could ghosts die from shame?
Probably not, but Keqing was tempted to try.
“The figurines,” she hurried to say. “It didn’t mean anything.”
“Of course not,” Zhongli said tactfully.
The man had always been so polite.
No, not the man. The god.
“I would like to thank you,” Zhongli said, breaking the awkward silence. “Without you and people like you, I would never have been able to retire so soon.”
“I… you’re welcome,” Keqing stammered. She didn’t know if she wanted to laugh or cry, but ghosts could do neither of these things.
She thought about all the questions she had wanted to ask him, after. About all the moments when she had wondered, ‘What would Rex Lapis do?’
“That day,” she said. “When you…died. Did you have to be that dramatic?”
Zhongli smiled. “I couldn’t stay alive. Too many people would have refused to move on if I had simply retired, and too many people would have refused to believe it if it had been less...dramatic, as you say.”
That made sense. Not that Keqing was going to admit it to Zhongli.
“Does Hu Tao know?” she asked instead.
Zhongli shook his head. “No. She suspects I’m an Adeptus, but that is all. I intend to leave it that way.” He looked at her pensively. “Of course, there is the matter of growing old. Do you think I should age this body a little more?”
Keqing couldn’t believe that Liyue’s former Archon was asking her for such advice.
“I’m not sure I can picture you as a hunched over old man,” she said sincerely.
Zhongli’s eyes twinkled. “Is that so?”
Keqing averted her eyes, looking at Liyue Harbor instead. She couldn’t watch him while she said her next words, it would be too embarrassing.
“Thank you for trusting us,” she whispered. “I hope we didn’t disappoint.”
“Of course not. I’ve been quite enjoying myself thanks to your hard work. You have my gratitude.”
His voice sounded warm and… proud. As if her efforts meant something to him.
Keqing didn’t know what to make of it. She didn’t want to make anything of it.
She looked at him. He was smiling at her, gold in his eyes and his smile and his voice, and she felt something deep, deep inside her being soothed.
“I didn’t do it for you,” she said, because she had to.
Zhongli’s smile didn’t waver. “I know.”
Keqing smiled back at him, at the being that would still be alive long after her entire generation would be forgotten. Then she turned away.
She was ready to cross the border.