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“Remind me,” starts Cyno, leaning back in his chair, strangely relaxed when compared to his usual stiffness, “what are the rules when I’m off duty?”
The bar is loud. There is a game of Genius Invocation TCG spread out on the sticky table before him. Alhaitham is to the left, nursing the same mug of ale since he sat down, slipping it slowly with not so much a grimace despite how it’s gone flat. Kaveh has imbibed properly, pink-faced and giggly, hiding a grin behind his hand.
“I—” Cyno’s subordinate stands beside the table and sighs awkwardly. “Unless it’s a matter of national emergency, it can wait until the next day.”
Alhaitham raises an eyebrow. “Is that really a rule? And here I thought you worked twenty-four, seven.”
“Obviously, he doesn’t.” Kaveh snorts, dropping his glass to the table with a too-loud clunk. “Otherwise we’d never see him.” He motions to the card game then. “He’d never get to kick my—”
“Technically,” cuts in Cyno, “I’m never off, but even I need rest.”
“Which you find at a bar?” Alhaitham quirks a brow.
Tighnari chooses that moment to reappear, settling into the empty chair. He slides a mug over to Cyno. “What do you find at bars?”
“Apparently subordinates who enjoy bothering him during his off hours.” Kaveh laughs, thinking his words are a funny joke.
Tighnari’s face crinkles. “You’re on call, though. That’s why you’re drinking tea, not—”
Cyno is too tired for this nonsense. Yes, he wants to enjoy a night out with friends. Yes, he wants to pummel Kaveh into the table by taking out his deck in five turns. But duty calls, whether he wants it to or not. Cyno sighs, gesturing to the Matra who stands there stiffly. “Is it a matter of great importance?”
“Well…”
“Is the safety of Sumeru at risk?”
“Truthfully, sir, undetermined. It’s just strange. It can probably be handled tomorrow, but I wanted to give you the report tonight.”
Cyno holds out his hand and gestures for the file. It isn’t particularly heavy, but the weight of the paper feels strange in his hands. Not that he particularly misses the Akasha, but even Cyno cannot overlook the usefulness of accessing files remotely. “Noted. I’ll take a look.”
“Off you go,” says Kaveh, motioning for the Matra to make himself scarce—which he does, shuffling away on quiet feet. Kaveh frowns when he turns back to Cyno. “You’re not seriously looking at that now, are you? Take it home at least.”
“I was only flipping through it, but…” The Matra was right. The report is a hodgepodge of strange sightings, rumors, and blurred kamera photos taken by shaking hands.
Tighnari leans over for a better look. “Anything neat?”
“Consecrated Beasts—” At that, Alhaitham perks up, straightening in his chair. “Numerous specimens hunted and butchered—”
“Butchered?” Kaveh gasps loudly enough to draw the attention of nearby tables.
“Apparently,” says Cyno dryly, shooting him a warning glance. Kaveh mutters an apology and snaps his mouth shut.
“So, someone is taking care of a problem, then.” Alhaitham shrugs. “That doesn’t sound like something to be investigated.”
Cyno flips through the pages, skimming the information. “That isn’t unusual on its own. There are plenty who hunt such things for sport, particularly those in the Adventurer’s Guild. And provided they have the proper licensing—” Cyno stops dead as something in the report captures his attention. He reads it twice, and then thrice, his brow crinkling.
Tighnari reads over his arm. “Does that say ‘butchered and processed?’”
“As in food?” asks Alhaitham.
Kaveh gags, choking on his drink. “I’m sorry, but what?”
“Interesting.” Alhaitham thumbs his chin.
Kaveh cringes. “Ugh. You would find it to be so.”
The idea of it is absurd, but the pictures are clear; the carcasses left behind are carefully broken down, only the meaty bits and pieces taken. Cyno wonders why the fiend would leave most of the beast behind, but it adds to the mystery, he supposes. He sighs, rubbing at his brow, trying to ease his quickly growing headache. “This warrants a look. These cuts are clean. Sharp. The joints are pulled right out from the socket—they know what they’re doing.”
“A serial killer?” Kaveh’s eyes are wide like plates, pupils thick and black.
“Of vermin, sure.” Alhaitham waves. “I still don’t see the issue.”
“What if they’re practicing? For humans? For—”
“I think it’s just a hunter,” says Cyno. “Still, I don’t think there have been any new licenses distributed recently, and I know most of those who are active. This doesn’t seem to be familiar work.” He snaps the file shut. “Tomorrow. It’ll be nice to visit the desert again. But until then—” Cyno’s gaze drops to the table where their card game is still spread out.
“It’s your turn,” he continues, nodding to Kaveh. “And unless you do something drastic, it’ll be my game.”
Kaveh’s eyes flutter as he shoots the entire table a crooked grin. “Want to bet on it? Make the steaks a little higher?”
The collective groan between everyone at the table only makes Kaveh laugh harder.
#
Cyno is not sure what he expected to find in the desert, but a plucky teenage girl and a toddling red panda are not it.
Their fight is not sloppy. The girl holds her own against the Horned Crocodile, quick with her jab-like lunges, spear glinting in the bright sun. The panda spits fire, setting the sand ablaze before staggering away, and the girl just jumps into the fray with no sense of self-preservation.
It cannot be her. It cannot be. Cyno thinks it’s more likely that she’s just there at the wrong time and place, and that everything is purely coincidental. So, like the good General that he is, he leaps into action with Electro climbing up his arm.
Most would thank him for saving their lives, not that he enjoys it. It’s his job. Another afternoon, another notch on his belt, another rung on the ladder. This girl, though, has the audacity to be annoyed.
“What did you go and do that for? It’s useless now.”
Cyno twirls his staff before it blips away, winking into the ether. He levels her with a narrowed gaze and the tilt of his head. “Useless?”
She lets out an exasperated groan and kicks at that now-dead beast. “You electrified it. It’s been roasted! Even if I wanted to use it, it’d likely taste terrible. I don’t think any amount of herbs could hide away the taste of…” She gestures frantically before grunting.
Cyno is a man of few words, but so rarely is he truly speechless. He just stands there, staring at her, the sand burning the bottoms of his feet. When he remembers that he has a job to do, he asks, “Why are you out here picking fights with Consecrated Beasts?”
At that, the girl gives him a toothy grin. “Why, I’m Chef Xiangling of Wanmin Restaurant! Guoba and I are on a Great Cyptid Hunt in order to find the tastiest of meats.”
It cannot be.
It clearly is. Xiangling smiles at him as if she’s the bee's knees, and that hunting down creatures ten times her size to eat is the most normal thing in the world. A death wish, he thinks. This girl has a date with death, and she’s barreling toward it uncompromisingly.
Xiangling steps closer to the Horned Crocodile, dropping to her knees, poking and prodding at its electrified remains. Sighing heavily, she drags her forearm across her brow. “Ruined, just like I thought. There’s no salvaging this.”
Cyno licks his lips before asking, “You actually intend to eat this thing?”
“I was until you zapped it. Now I’ve got to go and hunt another one.” Xiangling blinks back at him, confused by the horror that settles across his face. “I know that look.” Her mouth curls into a devious smile. “I bet you aren’t adventurous when it comes to culinary wiles. Aren’t you curious about where Teyvat’s gastronomy can take your taste buds?”
“No.”
Xiangling purses her lips and sniffs. “Well. More for me and Guoba, then.” Guoba chirps in agreement as Xiangling stands. She brushes off her knees and just before she turns to leave, Cyno reaches out to grab her by the collar.
“Wait. Do you have the proper paperwork to hunt Consecrated Beasts in Sumeru?”
Her silence is telling. Cyno isn’t the best at reading others, but Xiangling wears her expressions openly on her sleeve.
“I… uh, that is to say… there’s paperwork?”
Cyno raises a brow. “Did you not check in with the Adventurer’s Guild?”
Xiangling rubs the back of her head. “So, here’s the thing—me and the Adventurer’s Guild… have some beef.” A pause. “And by beef, I don’t mean—”
“I know what you mean.”
Cyno thumbs his chin as he thinks. Technically, he could arrest her. Whilst Consecrated Beasts aren’t protected, a hunting license is required in order to control reducing their population too far. There are seasons for these sorts of things meant to protect the ecosystem and though she doesn’t seem to hunt for sport, Xiangling has done considerable… damage on her own in a short amount of time.
At the same time, Cyno doesn’t think that she means any harm. Her passion for food is clearly her primary concern with all the talk of whatever gastronomy is. Xiangling pouts at him, her pleading eyes begging for mercy.
“So you know who I am, then?” he assumes.
“I may have chatted with the Traveler before coming out here.”
Ah. That explains a lot. Truthfully, whilst Cyno upholds the law above most, he isn’t in the habit of throwing a teenager behind bars if it can be avoided.
“Xiangling,” he begins, crossing his arms over his chest, “if you were to… eat a—” He gestures to the Horned Crocodile Corpse. “—would that be enough for you to stop unregulated hunting for the time being?”
Her eyes widen and she nods enthusiastically. “This is the last beast I’ve yet to taste, and one carcass is enough to last me for a bit. I wouldn’t need anything more.”
There is a startlingly simple solution. Cyno hopes to Celestia above that he won’t come to regret it. With great hesitation and trepidation, he says, “Then I will go with you and we’ll hunt one together.”
He isn’t sure that he likes how Xiangling’s mouth curls into something feral.
#
As it turns out, Xiangling’s combat prowess is not a fluke.
Cyno helps just as he says. Together, they find another Horned Crocodile near Tunigi Hollow. But when it comes to the actual hunting, Xiangling dares to impart rules.
“Don’t roast it again,” she says, crouched so low to the ground she’s nearly on her stomach. “If you’ve gotta stab it, aim for the joints—I’ll have to break it down there anyway. If you dig your spear into the meat, though, it’s hard to work around that. Do you know how to wring a chicken?”
Of course not. Cyno has never butchered an animal for food in his life. “I know how to wring a towel,” he says dryly.
Xiangling snorts. “Was that a joke? Whatever, just try not to ruin the meat, okay?”
During the thick of things, Cyno barely has to raise a finger. Xiangling and Guoba sling themselves into the den with little thought, latching onto the Crocodile like butter on bread. Even Guoba finds his use, as unsteady on his feet as he is, teeter-tottering his way over the sand only to open his jaw to spit massive flames.
“Duck!” hisses Xiangling, which Cyno does, barely missing the arc of Guoba’s fire. The sand around them heats so hot that it turns to shimmering glass. Cyno blinks, gaping at Guoba, and makes a mental note to never underestimate goofy-looking creatures again.
From there, it is effortless. They beat it down until it's weary and snapping at their group with half-hearted effort. Xiangling climbs onto the Crocodile’s back, throwing her arms around its neck, wrenching it. A loud crack shoots through the air. The crocodile goes limp, falling to the ground as Xiangling clings to it to keep from falling over.
Cyno stands there, stunned, his chest heaving and joints aching pleasantly in the aftermath. At least he’d gotten his cardio in.
Xiangling tumbles across the sand dramatically before meeting Cyno’s face and grinning wide. “Success!”
#
Xiangling insists on cooking him a meal right then and there.
Cyno watches as she works, leaning against an outcropping of rocks. He tries not to be fascinated by the way she breaks down the meat, but it can’t be avoided. Xiangling was good with a lance, but is a master when it comes to wielding a knife. Every cut is effortless, the blade slicing through muscles and tendons as if they’re paper. It is almost a performance. She gets lost in her motions, hands sweeping over the carcass before she angles her blade just so.
“You’re staring.” Her voice is light and airy. Teasing. She doesn’t look up, but Cyno can see that she is smiling.
“It is admirable,” he replies. Xiangling pauses and looks up, head tilting to the side as she waits for him to continue. “Ah. Your work—from one person who lives and breathes their job for another, your dedication to the craft is admirable.”
Xiangling chuckles and turns back to the carcass. “That’s the thing about it, though—I don’t view this as work.”
Cyno quirks a brow in interest. “Go on.”
“That is the gist of it.” She pulls at a limb, the joint cracking underneath her fingers. Then, she dissects the rest piece by piece, laying out each cut on her carefully prepared and sanitized tarp. “Cooking is the fiber of my being. It’s what makes me tick. It’s what drives my days. Cooking is how I show love for others, filling bellies until they're fat and full, making sure those around me are warm and content.
“To others, yes, maybe it is work. The restaurant that I run is my livelihood and that is my job, but this? This is self-indulgence. My goal of learning everything that I can about Teyvat’s gastronomy is fueled by my selfish desire to taste any and everything that finds its way underneath my knife.”
Xiangling finishes her last several cuts and then lifts her head, pointing her knife at Cyno. “That being said, I can’t deny there is satisfaction when it comes to praise. When you eat this, don’t pull any punches, okay? Tell me exactly how much you love it.”
Cyno hides a smirk behind his hand. “Confident.”
“Always.”
Their chatter falls quiet as she washes her hands and creates a small campfire with the help of Guoba. “A note,” she says as she places her wok over the flame. “Guoba doesn’t take kindly to those who criticize my food.”
“Are you saying the reviews are determined by him twisting arms?”
Xiangling laughs, loud and raucous. “Of course not.” She dices an onion and tosses it into the pan. “But he’s protective in his own way. We wouldn’t want him frying you up next, do we? No,” she coos, leaning over to kiss Guoba’s rubbery head. “We certainly can’t have that, hm?”
Quiet settles over their makeshift camp, the sizzle of food in Xiangling’s pot the only thing to be heard. She hums softly as she stirs, spices, and tastes, lips smacking as she lets the flavors settle over her tongue.
Cyno is envious in a way—envious that she can be so free in her work. He rarely has time off to himself and though he doesn’t regret his position, he does regret that he’s more tired than not and that there are few moments to truly indulge in selfish endeavors. Even with friends, he is always on duty.
“There is a simplicity to it,” he eventually says, which offends her.
“There is not,” huffs Xiangling.
“I only meant when it comes to pleasing others. It is easy with food, which is good, otherwise we’d have a world filled with angry, hungry people.”
She shoots him an amused grin. “Are you saying the way to your heart is through your stomach?”
Cyno hums. “It wouldn’t be a bad start.”
Their banter continues to be witty. Cyno cracks a joke or two, which Xiangling takes with good grace, despite his punchlines being corny and ill-timed. After the food has simmered, she piles it onto a rough-worn plate.
“No need for utensils,” she says as Cyno takes the serving from her. “I’ve got some bread in my bag. We’ll eat with our hands.”
It is a small, but kind gesture. Cyno realizes that he’s underestimated Xiangling once again. She’s put his comfort ahead of her own, dishing up something suited for his personal sentimentalities. She wishes to make others warm and content.
Cyno feels that love spread out on this plate in his lap.
He washes his hands with the water in his canteen. The bread she offers him is soft and flat, cooked the day prior, no doubt by her fingers. What a moment. Gentle, carefully crafted kindness is offered to him purely because it is what she loves to do.
Cyno is no different. The General Mahamatra he may be, but it is because his divine sense of justice craves to save others because he can.
When they dig in, Cyno thanks Celestia for the respite.