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The last day of the year wasn’t actually Zhongli’s birthday.
To be more specific, he didn’t have a birthday in the same way that mortals did, those who counted their years one after the other, rather than century by century. He was an elemental being without mother or father, and though he certainly came into existence at some point, it was not particularly well-defined. At some point, his consciousness awakened. At some other point, he became aware of the flow of time. Perhaps either one of those could have been considered his birthday, but though the first would be more accurate, only the second could be narrowed down to a date— and even so, it was a season at best, for at that time he did not yet know the calendar, nor was it the same one used today.
The truth was, though, he had never really though much about it. For Yanwang Dijun, the annual Rite of Descension was a far more meaningful way to mark the passing years.
Even when he descended to walk the mortal world, Zhongli still didn’t think much of it.
It was the director who first brought the issue to mind on her own birthday.
Hu Tao was turning fourteen that year, not long after she had buried her grandfather. Zhongli, when he wasn’t otherwise occupied, had occasionally done some work for Wangsheng Parlor as an outside consultant for a few years now— long enough to be considered a friend of the family. These past few months, he had spent more time in mortal guise to watch over his old friend’s granddaughter as she transitioned into her new role at such a young age.
As such, Hu Tao had grown attached to him, and insisted he join her for her birthday dinner.
Liyue’s affairs were fairly peaceful at the moment, and the operations at the Golden House were going smoothly as well, so Zhongli had agreed to join her, and arranged for a lavish birthday meal at Liuli Pavilion.
Zhongli had come to quietly admire Hu Tao a great deal in these past months. Despite being so young, she had readily shouldered the burden of becoming Wangsheng Parlor’s seventy-seventh director, and she had a rather marvelous ability to maintain high spirits without undermining the sanctity of her profession. She wasn’t the most easy person to get along with— after all, she was rather unique, perhaps even eccentric, but no one could deny her talents and strength.
In short… just as the young Tianquan exemplified one aspect of humanity that Zhongli had grown to cherish deeply over his long years, Hu Tao exemplified the other.
And though she often seemed rather childish, there were more than a few moments where the true profundity of her sentiments were revealed.
Like now.
“You know, some people are actually afraid of their birthdays, especially once they’ve grown up,” she said, after her friends had gone home and it was only she and Zhongli left at the table. “It reminds them that time is passing, and that every day brings them closer to their own funeral. But really, I think that birthdays should be celebrated even more because of that— everyone will die eventually, so why not celebrate being alive while you still can?”
Profound indeed… if perhaps a bit morbid.
Regardless, it was a sentiment that was quite uniquely “Hu Tao.”
Then, she turned to Zhongli, like she’d suddenly thought of something.
“I just realized, I don’t know when yours is. We’ve never really celebrated it before, have we?” she asked.
Zhongli blinked, giving a slight inclination of his head. “No, I don’t believe we have.”
Hu Tao smiled. “Oh, don’t tell me you’re one of those people who’s afraid of it,” she smirked, wiggling her fingers teasingly.
With a sigh, and a small smile, Zhongli shook his head.
“Of course not,” he said. “Indeed… I rather agree with Tangzhu’s sentiments myself.”
Hu Tao leaned back in her set, stretching out lightly. “Then, when is it? I’ll have to make sure to give you a proper birthday party too this year.”
This was the first time that Zhongli had actually thought about it, really. Though the question itself wasn’t all that strange— everyone had a birthday, after all. He glanced up toward the ceiling, to the softly flickering lanterns above.
Well… perhaps in that case he ought to just choose a day.
“The final day of the year,” he said.
Logically, there were two choices that would make the most sense— either the first day of the year, or the last. Perhaps if someone had asked him a few millennia ago, he might have said the former. After all, when thinking in terms of the markets, or the calendar itself, the first day of the year was the most prominent, the simplest way to count them as they went by. The last day of the year, however, was a day that was spent in reflection of the time gone by, and as it was, spending time in quiet reflection amid the quiet, cloud-wreathed spires of Jueyun Karst had become one of Zhongli’s principle hobbies as of late.
Indeed, he thought, this date was far more suitable.
“Oh good!” Hu Tao replied with a little clap of her hands. “That’s still a good bit away. That means I’ll have plenty of time to prepare.”
Five months passed after that, as they so often did, in the blink of an eye.
Zhongli didn’t think too much about the whole affair. Of course, he hadn’t forgotten— it was simply that he had a great many other things to think about. There were market trends to analyze in preparation for the upcoming Rite of Descension, and a survey of the lands and people to discreetly conduct. Here and there were the occasional ley line disturbances to quell, or monster encampments to break apart, though these were often already taken care of by the time he arrived. These past years, he truly felt like more of a civil god than a martial god… oh, how things had changed since he laid the first stones of Liyue Harbor all those years ago.
Sometimes, amid his reminiscing as he wandered up and down the docks or sat sipping from his cup at Heyu Teahouse, he would catch a glimpse of a pair of brown pigtails disappearing behind the wall, or feel the resonance of a familiar set of light footsteps following not too far behind him through the stone beneath his feet.
Zhongli wasn’t entirely sure why the director was stalking him, but he didn’t mind all that much. It was rather impossible for her to sneak up on him, so there was no danger of being caught while changing forms. He was curious, of course, but he decided against bringing it up around her. It would be much more entertaining to simply see where all of this led in the end.
Then, at last, the thirty-first of December arrived.
That day, he had been preparing a lecture for Wangsheng Parlor’s junior undertakers at Hu Tao’s behest, when she poked her head in through the door of his office and stepped inside, a small stack of files in her hands. She set them down on his desk.
“What is this?” Zhongli asked with a tilt of his head.
“I had something really important come up,” she said, “do you think you can sort out these documents? These coffin orders just came in this week, so I need a list of materials we’ll have to order from the mill in Qingce Village tomorrow, but right now I don’t have time to make it up myself. Could you pleeeease handle that?”
She gave him a pleading look, and Zhongli sighed.
“Very well,” he said.
“Thank you, consultant!” Hu Tao beamed. “Oh, and once you’re done, do you think you could stop by Wanmin Restaurant? Since we’re both working late, I put in an order for a few things.”
Once more, Zhongli nodded his head in agreement, though he was beginning to wonder whether at this point he was still an outside consultant or if he had become some sort of intern, since he was now being assigned the task of fetching takeaway.
Still, he didn’t mind, and so he didn’t protest.
It didn’t take particularly long to organize the files and make a list of the necessary materials, and Zhongli rose from his desk, crossing the hall to Hu Tao’s office to return them to her. His knock on the door received no answer— odd, since she claimed to be working late.
Laying eyes upon the empty office, Zhongli sighed.
He had an inkling by now of what was going on. He recalled their conversation from before and wondered if all of this was part of that plan she had talked about.
In the end, he just left the files on her desk, the list he’d written in his neat and elegant calligraphy resting on top, and left Wangsheng Parlor, fingers intertwined behind his back as he wandered along the still-busy streets toward Chihu Rock. Now that he had realized what was going on, he suspected that the order Hu Tao had placed was meant for some sort of birthday dinner, but since she’d gone to such lengths to surprise him, Zhongli decided that he would humor her and pretend he hadn’t guessed it already.
These were his thoughts as he approached the counter at Wanmin Restaurant.
“I am here to pick up an order for Hu-tangzhu from Wangsheng Parlor,” he said once he arrived.
Chef Mao motioned toward the back of the restaurant. “It will be in the plaza back there. Everything’s already been paid for.”
Zhongli saw the chef’s daughter put down her knife and push open the back window, calling out a whispered, “He’s here!”
He raised an eyebrow slightly, then nodded his head and made his way to the plaza.
“Tada! Happy birthday, my dear consultant!”
The entire back area of Wanmin Restaurant had been decorated with lanterns and streamers, and the tables filled with platters of delicious-smelling food. Glancing across the spread, Zhongli noticed all of his favorite dishes there. Hu Tao approached, holding a small package in her hand.
“This is for you. Open it up!” she said.
Zhongli had to admit, he was a bit surprised by all of this after all. Hu Tao really had put a lot of effort into this. He had talked about his preferences from time to time, but not in excessive detail. No doubt this was why Hu Tao had been following him around like that before, trying to find out what sort of things to prepare for a perfect birthday meal.
He couldn’t help but smile softly as he accepted the package, and Hu Tao caught hold of his sleeve and pulled him over to sit down at the table.
“Xiangling and I spent a long time preparing the menu, so I hope you like everything,” she said as she sat down across from him. “I would have invited more of your friends, but… I really couldn’t tell if you were especially close to anyone in Liyue Harbor.”
“You have put a great deal of thought into this birthday dinner,” Zhongli smiled as he untied the package in his hands. “I am more than content to spend my birthday in your company alone.”
It was far more than he had expected.
Hu Tao smirked a little.
“With how surprised you are, you’d think that my favorite consultant has never had a birthday party before.”
It was true— this really was the first time, in all of these thousands of years, that anyone had thrown Zhongli a birthday party after all. Of course, he wouldn’t admit that, so he simply released a soft chuckle, then finished opening the package.
Inside was a clay teapot, an antique of exquisite quality and craftsmanship.
Actually, it looked rather familiar.
“It was my grandfather’s,” Hu Tao said, after he finished inspecting it. “I think he would have liked for you to have it.”
Zhongli gently set the teapot down on the table, looking around once more at the prepared dishes, at the carefully-placed decorations, and at the canopy of stars glittering above them. Such attention had been placed into every aspect of this…
He felt a soft warmth spreading within his chest, chasing away the chill of late winter.
“Thank you, Tangzhu,” he said, his voice soft with appreciation.
It was last day of the year. The time for reflection, and for looking toward the future, and…
A time to celebrate being alive, here, in this very moment.
Thus passed Zhongli’s first birthday celebration. Though he had never thought much of it before, every year after that on the final day of the year, whether or not there was any sort of party or opulent meal, he would spend at least a little time in reflection and celebration, to cherish and appreciate this present moment, and the warmth of good company.
After all, there was nothing that said a god could not also mark the passing years in the same way.