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‘Reading is essential in our society,’ Yun Jin remarks, folding back the pages of her script. Paimon scratches at her head, overwhelmed by the flourishes of Liyuean writing penned by Yunning. ‘Yet there are so many who cannot read at all.’
‘Don’t you have schools?’ Paimon asks. ‘Like, a lot of them? Every time she’s here, she hears about “Guhua” this and “Yue” that…’
Yun Jin chuckles beautifully, as only she can, following the stroke order of each character until Paimon understands. ‘Liyue is known for its schools of opera, war, poetry… Even schools of history. Yet without good fortune, many remain illiterate. They work to provide for their families and put food on the table, even from an early age.’
‘Well,’ declares Paimon, ‘Maybe you guys should have a free school!’
‘A wonderful idea. If only our patrons would invest in our society, not in arts glorifying them.’
Paimon goes back to looking troubled. And why shouldn’t she be? There’re still so many characters in Liyuean that she can’t read– and in Chenyu Vale, they have an even more complicated system!
‘This is why I sing,’ says Yun Jin. ‘To play my small part in bringing joy to everyone.’
‘I can still hardly read, and Master Tighnari wants me to give lectures in front of the whole class!’
Collei is not stewing so much as inwardly panicking, shut up inside a tight tree hollow with Paimon at her side. They use the light pouring in from the entrance to read all of Collei’s frantic notes.
‘It’s just about plants and animals, right?’ Paimon says. She puts her hands on her hips. ‘You know everything there is! So there’s nothing to worry about.’
‘No, that’s not true. It means I know what I don’t know,’ Collei despairs. ‘Look– I can’t even keep the grazing habits of Desert Sumpter Beasts in my head.’
Paimon does look, and she finds herself a little puzzled. All of Collei’s notes are annotated with illustrations done by Cyno and Kaveh, whilst Alhaitham and Tighnari have added practical advice in the margins.
It reminds her of the Adventurer’s Handbook belonging to the Traveller, full to the brim on what they’ve learnt in every nation.
‘Maybe you don’t have to know it all, then,’ amends Paimon. She touches Collei’s shoulder. ‘I believe in you.’
‘You do?’ Collei looks up, tears brimming in her eyes.
Paimon nods decisively.
The spine cracks as Freminet opens up his new picture book, flushed with humility. At long last, Thelxie’s Fantastic Adventure has gone to print. Beside them sits the Water Imp Prince, who chirrups occasionally in Caesar script.
‘Stories are where I find myself,’ Freminet admits, hand coasting over the textured illustrations on every page. ‘In the outside world, I don’t really know who I am or what I believe in… but here, I know who the heroes are. What needs to be done to save the day.’
Paimon thinks of every person they’ve failed to help and the lives they’ve brought to ruin. Does Furina count among them? Now she’s a normal person, just as aimless as Freminet.
‘I like it,’ he continues. ‘I like Thelxie. Their happiness can live on inside the pages of this book. We don’t have to hide any more… when we need courage, we can just come back here.’
‘Maybe you should write some,’ suggests Paimon. Freminet blinks in surprise and then regards her.
‘Oh. I’m not that talented…’
‘You are!’ she insists, grabbing one of his hands. He looks like he’s never been believed in before.
Today that changes.
‘You’re really, really, talented, Freminet!'
Razor’s finger trails carefully over the underlined passage. The page itself has only two sentences; the illustration beside it depicts a Hydro Slime jumping over a bag of Flour.
‘“The Hydro Slime… leaps…”’
Paimon agrees vigorously, nudging his hand down to the next line. She’s so proud of him.
‘“But the breeze… fights it… and it drops… into the Flour. Oh, no!”’
He substitutes the oh, no! for a wolf’s howl. Paimon joins him, crooning to the ceiling of the library.
‘Oh.’ Razor flips to the next page, practically bewitched by what he sees. ‘It’s dough.’
‘It’s a Dough Slime!’ Paimon interjects, wiggling where she floats. ‘What do you think we should do with it? Should we bake it and make a Bread Slime? Or cut it up into little pieces to make lots of Dough Slimes?’
Razor’s brow furrows. ‘Razor not hurt them.’
‘It won’t! I promise.’ Paimon doesn’t want to spoil the story, but she’s just so excited!
After a long pause, Razor puts his finger to the next passage. Slowly, he unravels the tale of the Dough Slime, who brings joy to all the people in Mondstadt by becoming sandwiches and toast and croissants.
‘Now Paimon’s hungry!’
‘There are some who dream in characters. It does not matter if they have a disability or not; some minds are configured to narrate their experience in letters.’
Paimon’s mouth forms an oh of surprise. Yumemizuki Mizuki finishes pouring her some green tea, passing her the tiny cup Thoma made from clay.
‘Do I dream like that?’
Mizuki shakes her head. ‘Not at all. Your dreams are very vibrant. If I had to say you “dream in” something, I might wager yours are rooted in food.’
‘N-not all of them!’ Paimon protests. Mizuki giggles.
‘No. Just your happiest dreams.’
Mizuki doesn’t often get the chance to sample delicious dreams. She picks up her brush and continues transcribing the Traveller’s latest nightmare, who even now sleeps restfully nearby.
‘Then it’s like a story,’ hazards Paimon. ‘Like a storybook.’
‘Oh, certainly. They may not make much sense to the waking world, but dreams have their own internal logic. Each leap of emotion is like a new chapter being penned.’
Paimon wishes she could take away all the scary stories in the Traveller’s dreams. Too often, though, they share the same fear.
For right now, though…
She goes over to hold their hand.
‘Reading’s a chore.’
Xilonen blows a huge cherry bubble out of her gum. Skillfully, with the slightest twist of her tongue, it pops. Paimon stares in wonderment as she starts chewing again.
‘’Cause you’re not in the Nightwind tribe?’ Paimon asks. Xilonen lazily shakes her head. ‘Or ‘cause Natlan thrives on oral traditions?’
‘What, did Mavuika tell you that?’ Xilonen grins. She bends at the waist and leans over her anvil, hips shimmying. ‘Nah. Just not my thing. You could hit up Citlali if you’re really bored.’
Citlali’s not an option, though, since she has something intimate and private going on with the Traveller. Paimon wilts every time she explodes, apropos of nothing, into an embarrassed glare.
‘So what did you do growing up? About stories?’
Xilonen considers the question. She tosses some charcoal back into the kiln, retrieving her thick blacksmith’s gloves. ‘Usually, we learn stories from performances done during holidays. In the Children of Echoes, we dance. Mostly.’
‘And now?’
‘Pretty much the same.’ Then Xilonen sighs. ‘Except, now I’ve gotta start teaching Nepecha to read. Work never ends.’
‘I can do it,’ Paimon offers suddenly, ‘If you, um, don’t like reading.’
‘Nah. But you can join us.’
Skirk grabs her right arm and pulls it off of her body. Without the slightest wince, she begins shaping the limb into something sharp and deadly.
‘My parents read to me when I was young,’ she says. Paimon has worn her down enough that she no longer protests; whilst the Traveller, days into their training, sees only the pylons before them, Paimon’s attention drifts. Time is weird in this place. ‘I haven’t bothered learning any of Teyvat’s script.’
‘Why not?’ Paimon presses.
Skirk tries to answer with her silence. She’s a spacetime-bending spirit that falls from people’s minds easily, like plates stacked up too high. Chances are good she can just pluck food from any stall or shop she wants and walk off. Sometimes, Paimon wishes she could do that.
‘Why not?’
‘… It has little use to me.’ Skirk glances at Paimon impassively. ‘There are too many worlds. Too many things to learn. And I have long since ceased to care.’
Feeling brave, Paimon says, ‘I-I don’t think that’s true.’
Skirk raises a brow. ‘Oh?’
‘You care about Teyvat. Or, you care about the Traveller’s story. R-right?’
Skirk’s smile is a barely-there flash.
‘Not enough to read it, unfortunately.’
‘Serials will be the death of me, I swear.’
Furina folds their hands in their lap and casts their gaze up above, neck resting on the sofa’s uncomfortable pillows. They’ve placed their hat to the side, using it as a paperweight to keep the magazine spread open before them.
Well. Paimon has to agree. She studies the cliff-hanger for a third time, frowning at the flowery, To Be Continued?
‘Why do they write like that?’ she asks. ‘In Inazuma, too! Paimon gets so frustrated by the stories that never finish.’
‘Oh, my dear Paimon,’ Furina laughs, ‘They do it to sell more copies; to make more money. Some authors claim it’s easier to write a little at a time, but– the drama! The suspense! They leave all of it behind in the next installment!’
‘You should have rules against that,’ sighs Paimon, ‘Not stupid ones about “flying objects” during the first three days of the month, or whatever.’
‘What? And make a law that changes Fontainians’ lives for the better?’
Again, Furina laughs, but it is a bitter thing.
‘Monsieur Neuvillette might, someday. Perhaps once we’ve figured out how to be a society that makes sense.’
Paimon, chastened, falls silent.
Sign has its own oral traditions. Reading Sign and learning to “read” are entirely different things.
Though she’s correcting Paimon, Yanfei isn’t the least bit mean. In fact, she looks excited to share her ideas. The way she moves from sign to sign is electric, even pyretic.
‘Is it that different?’
Completely. We have an entirely different grammar. Yanfei merrily signs her laughter. When I write legal briefs, I have to “code switch” to Liyuean. It can be a hassle.
There’s a lot of things they call reading, actually: “reading lips” or “reading the room”. Paimon wonders just how many systems they really have to learn.
‘Is there one you like better? Or, um,’ Paimon dances, a little excited, ‘Do you prefer “listening” to somebody use Sign to tell a story, or reading it on paper?’
It depends! Have you seen Shenhe narrate Yun Jin’s operas? It feels like I’m being told the same story in two different ways.
‘That’s so cool,’ Paimon gushes, brought to life by Yanfei’s beaming grin. ‘I didn’t even think about it, but you’re right!’
Yanfei says, slowly this time, I love every single way we can speak to each other. Being together– a community.
‘“The moonborne rabbit
Pounds mochi with its hammer
Every autumn night.”’
The Shogun, when not embodied by Ei, tends to be quite stiff and lifeless in her delivery. Truth told, Paimon’s kinda scared of her. What if she says something wrong and the Shogun decides she’s threatening “eternity”? What if she takes her sword and vanquishes Paimon from Teyvat?
Unaware of these worries, the Traveller nods their head, studying the onionskin page.
Dutifully, the Shogun turns to her next haiku. ‘“Under summer’s eye,
Watchful mujina detest
Tanuki trespass.”’
Ohh! The Shogun’s thick book has a woodcut illustration of those very mujina standing guard in Chinju Forest, keeping the tanuki away. She thinks that’s what it is. It’s pretty hard to tell the difference when the details are so blocky.
‘“A star falls. Winter
Travels in white kimono
To Inazuma.”’
Are they all seasonal? All the same pattern? Paimon wants to ask, but the Traveller is in repose, and the Shogun is just so frightening.
‘“A silver friend waits
For her golden companion
At warm spring’s ending.”
‘Hey! That’s about us!’
The words burst out of Paimon. Terrified, she claps her hands over her mouth.
Smiling implacably, the Shogun says, ‘Indeed.’