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Childe tracks them down easily enough. Maybe a little too easily; he finds them near the funeral parlor past sundown, as he ducks out of sight of passing Millelith and barely glances at the various construction and repair sites he passes—the city's already recovering from Osial's attack immediately after the passing of Rex Lapis.
Sunset paints Liyue Harbor gold, and Zhongli stands somewhat set apart from its hustle and bustle. Behind a corner, out of sight from the street and any possible bystanders, there they stand: hands clasped behind their back, watching the harbor. As if they'd been waiting for him. Or as if they'd always been there, carved from marble. The only sign of movement their earring swaying in a faint breeze.
They turn to face him as he approaches. Not a hint of surprise in their expression or demeanor.
Childe raises a hand, grinning. "Mr. Zhongli."
"Childe," they say evenly. "Was there something else you needed?
And, sure, Childe could mention how they've been lying to him from the moment he met them and how he'd almost considered them a friend, not to mention how they'd used him for their own plans without even telling him, but that's not what he's here for. "Fight me."
Zhongli looks over him with that apparaising golden gaze—the bandages visibly peeking out from his sleeves—Childe almost preens under the prospect of being evaluated as a threat.
But—"No," they say.
"Aw, really?" A step forward, closer, and they don't so much as flinch. "Come on now, don't you think you owe me at least a spar?"
"We have agreed to no contract, so I do not owe you anything." As even-tempered as he's ever known them to be, as if it's that simple and done with.
Childe considers the merits of just attacking them here and now, forcing their hand. Zhongli shifts—more alert, but not tense; still relaxed, their hands behind their back, speaking to a confidence that they can take care of him if he ends up being a problem. Like he's nothing more than some annoying or amusing little fly.
"The city is still under repair," they say, still in that same tone—Is that what it would take to gain the attention of a god, then? Destroy everything they've worked to build? There's an allure to that, but he doesn't think Her Majesty would allow it, especially not with whatever contract she and Zhongli signed—"Not to mention I am a mere consultant, not a fighter."
Childe's laugh bursts out of him a little too loud; Zhongli pauses to let it pass by. This is Morax, after all, the prime adepti, the war god who'd won the throne of the Geo Archon after years of bloody, brutal battle; the land still festers with the remains of gods they've defeated, scarred and shaped by their victories. (The cliffs of Guyun Stone Forest are said to have been his lances, cast down when he first subdued Osial; how could Childe dodge or withstand that? Surely a battle with the Geo Archon would shake the earth itself, last for days and days on end; his blood is already rushing at the thought, his Delusion already buzzing under his skin, and he wonders—)
But then again this is also mild-mannered Zhongli, consultant of the Wangsheng Funeral Parkor, whose eyes are too big for their wallet (hey, aren't they the god of money? Why do they like clearing out his funds?): a pleasant conversationalist, pleasant company. The retired Rex Lapis.
Even if they've gotten rusty in their retirement, they'd still be more than enough of a worthy opponent.
Childe swallows back further taunts; Zhongli is still watching him, unmoved.
"This'll be your last chance," Childe warns. "I'm leaving Liyue Harbor soon, I can't exactly stay for much longer."
"Should you not already be on your way, then?"
"I figured I'd stop by one last time to ask. So, are you really going to pass up this kind of rare opportunity, Mr. Zhongli?"
"And exactly what kind of opportunity are you offering?" Are they... taunting him? Before he can respond to that, they continue—"My answer remains the same."
They won't budge. Childe's fingers itch to wrap around a blade of Hydro. Or maybe a polearm, the weapon he hears Morax favors—match them blow for blow, strike even. Would Zhongli bleed? Or would they crack and crumble like rock? What ways of killing a man would they favor, would they choose to try with Childe?
(And is he really just going to be left to imagine it?)
Zhongli's placid countenance offers no answers.
Well, he can't say he didn't try. Childe shrugs, backing away. "Alright, I get it. But next time I drop by, I'll ask again."
He could swear that was an amused glint in their eye as they watch him dart away. This must be all this is to them, then, a momentary amusement. All that time they spent together—nothing more than the blink of an eye.
Childe supposes he'll just have to provoke them more. Prove himself a worthy opponent, a credible threat for Morax to reemerge. Just another reason to keep getting stronger. He'll return then, when he's strong enough to challenge a god.
And as always, Zhongli will be waiting for him.