Chapter Text
My dearest, Ajax
I do not know what hour it is. I have stopped looking at the clock.
Paimon is asleep. The harbor is quiet. And I am drunk enough to finally stop lying to myself.
I miss you more than I should. I miss you a lot.
I miss you.
Do you know what I would say if you were standing here?
Nothing. I think I would just look at you.
Perhaps you would hate me.
That would be all right.
No— It would not be all right.
But I could bear it. I could bear you being angry. I could bear you shouting. I could bear you telling me that I was cruel. That I was selfish.
You would be right. You were always more perceptive than I gave you credit for.
I thought I was protecting you.
What an absurd thing to write.
I was protecting myself.
The truth is I was afraid.
I am sorry.
I don't expect you to forgive me. I don't even know if I deserve to ask.
But I need you to know that I understand now. Too late, perhaps but I understand.
I love you.
I wonder if you are somewhere tonight looking at the same moon.
That is a foolish thought too. You probably aren't. You are probably doing something reckless. You probably haven't thought about me once.
I hope you are laughing. I hope you are eating properly. I hope someone is bothering you about getting enough sleep. I hope you are happy. Even if I am not there to see it. Especially if I am not there to see it.
And if you tell me to leave you alone, I will. If you tell me that you hate me, I will hear you. If you tell me that you never want to see me again—I will still be grateful that you answered.
I miss you, Ajax. I miss you more than this page can hold.
I am sorry.
I love you more than any words can say
宝贝
(click to open)
宝贝
(click to open)
Dear Ajax,
Today, I took a walk along the Yaoguang Shore. The evening breeze was rather pleasant, carrying with it the scent of salt and the sound of the waves against the rocks. I encountered a Ruin Guard during my stroll. I imagine you would have been quite pleased to find such a thing waiting for you. Unfortunately, it had strayed too close to the settlements, and I was obliged to put an end to the matter myself. A pity. You would have made far more of an occasion of it. The sky was somewhat overcast tonight, though the moon still managed to show itself from time to time. It was a beautiful evening nonetheless. Somehow, I found myself wondering whether you would have stopped to admire it, or whether you would have complained that the clouds were obscuring the stars.
I also remembered that you used to collect Starconches. It is peculiar, perhaps, that I should remember such a trivial detail. Yet there I was, walking along the shore, searching among the stones for one that seemed worthy of keeping. I found several, but each had some small imperfection that made me set it aside. I spent considerably longer than I ought to have before finally finding one I was satisfied with. It is pale, smooth, and almost perfectly formed. I have enclosed it with this letter. Perhaps, when you return, you can tell me whether I have chosen well. I confess, I would rather have you tell me in person.
I am nothing. I am a corpse that still breathes, walking through a world that has gone grey and silent without you. I have no pride left to protect; I have no dignity to salvage. I would crawl through glass, I would beg at your feet in the mud, I would let you break me I would let you destroy every piece of what I am if only to feel your touch, even if that touch is a blow. Hit me. Ruin me. Tear my heart from my chest and discard it. Just do not leave me here in this silence. I am begging you. Please. I cannot exist in a world where you do not see me.
宝贝
(click to open)
宝贝
(click to open)
Dear Ajax,
Today, I visited Wanmin Restaurant. Miss Xiangling is, as ever, a most remarkable chef. She was kind enough to teach me how to prepare a seafood soup. The result was quite delicious, though I confess it was somewhat more piquant than I am accustomed to. I suspect you would have found it much to your liking. As I tasted it, I was reminded of a dish you once prepared for me. It took me a moment to recall its name. Ah, yes—“A Prize Catch.” I remember you seemed rather proud of it.
It is curious how easily the taste of a meal can bring back an old memory. I remember you insisting that I try it, despite my reservations, and looking altogether too pleased with yourself when I admitted that it was good. I wonder if you still prepare it in the same manner. Perhaps you have discovered some new variation by now. If so, I should like to try it again when you return. Though, knowing you, I suspect you would insist that your cooking has improved considerably since then.
My darling, Ajax
I am writing this because I cannot sleep. That is a lie. I could sleep. I simply do not want to.
The wine is making the room spin, which is rather irritating. I have never understood why mortals willingly drink something that makes them lose their balance and then insist that it makes them wiser. Perhaps they were right.
I seem to have become very honest. I miss you.
I miss you so terribly that I have started speaking to an empty chair like a fool. I poured you tea tonight. Your tea. I forgot that you are not here to complain about it. You always said it was too bitter. You drank it anyway. Why did you always drink it anyway?
You could have simply told me you hated it. You could have thrown the cup at me. You could have yelled. I would have preferred that. I would prefer anything to this silence.
I keep thinking that if I wait long enough, I will hear you. Your footsteps. Your voice. That ridiculous laugh of yours. I hate that I remember it so clearly. I hate that I remember everything. You deserved better than me.
I love you, Ajax. I have loved you for longer than I know how to admit.
I am still here, you aren't.I don't know what to do with that. I don't know how to be without you.
Everyone keeps telling me that time will make it easier. They are wrong. Time has only given me more things to remember.
I would give almost anything for one more ordinary day. Just you sitting beside me. Complaining about my tea.
Don't let the last thing between us be silence.
You once asked me what I would do if I lost everything.
I told you that I would endure.
I lied. I don't want to endure you. I want you to come home.
That is selfish. Forgive me.
Don't keep this letter. Burn it if you want. Laugh at me if you want.
Just know that somewhere, tonight, an old fool drank far too much wine and finally admitted what he should have said years ago.
Liyue Harbor
Wangsheng Funeral Parlor
Tartaglia
— Click to open —
Dear Baobei,
Please come back to me.
I do not know how else to write this. I have rewritten this sentence so many times, and every time I tell myself that I ought to stop. That I should have more dignity than this. That I should not burden you with my loneliness when you have your own life, your own travels, your own reasons for remaining away. I know this. I know it, and yet I am writing it again.
Please come home.
I miss you.
I have written it plainly, I despise myself for doing so. I have spent centuries teaching myself patience, restraint, acceptance. I have endured the passing of ages without complaint, and yet your absence has reduced me to this—sitting alone with a letter in my hands, begging someone who may not even wish to hear from me to return.
You need not forgive me. You need not even answer. Just come back.
No—that is unfair. I have no right to ask that of you. You owe me nothing. You never promised me anything. I should be grateful for whatever memories you left behind and leave you to your own path.
But I cannot.
I cannot, Ajax. I have tried.
I tell myself tomorrow will be easier. Tomorrow I will wake and think of something else. Tomorrow I will walk through the harbor without looking for you. Tomorrow I will sit at the funeral home, working along sides the director.
And then tomorrow comes, and I write to you again.
I am ashamed of this. Ashamed of how desperately I want you here. Ashamed that I have allowed myself to become so selfish. Ashamed that every beautiful thing I encounter now seems incomplete because I cannot turn to you and say, “Look.” I hate that the first thought in my mind when I see something beautiful is that you are not here to see it.
So forgive me, if you can. Or do not.
As long as you just come home, its enough
Please.
Yours sincerely,
Zhongli
Wangsheng Funeral Parlor
Dear Baobei,
Please come back to me.
I do not know how else to write this. I have rewritten this sentence so many times, and every time I tell myself that I ought to stop. That I should have more dignity than this. That I should not burden you with my loneliness when you have your own life, your own travels, your own reasons for remaining away. I know this. I know it, and yet I am writing it again.
Please come home.
I miss you.
I have written it plainly, I despise myself for doing so. I have spent centuries teaching myself patience, restraint, acceptance. I have endured the passing of ages without complaint, and yet your absence has reduced me to this—sitting alone with a letter in my hands, begging someone who may not even wish to hear from me to return.
You need not forgive me. You need not even answer. Just come back.
No—that is unfair. I have no right to ask that of you. You owe me nothing. You never promised me anything. I should be grateful for whatever memories you left behind and leave you to your own path.
But I cannot.
I cannot, Ajax. I have tried.
I tell myself tomorrow will be easier. Tomorrow I will wake and think of something else. Tomorrow I will walk through the harbor without looking for you. Tomorrow I will sit at the funeral home, working along sides the director.
And then tomorrow comes, and I write to you again.
I am ashamed of this. Ashamed of how desperately I want you here. Ashamed that I have allowed myself to become so selfish. Ashamed that every beautiful thing I encounter now seems incomplete because I cannot turn to you and say, “Look.” I hate that the first thought in my mind when I see something beautiful is that you are not here to see it.
So forgive me, if you can. Or do not.
As long as you just come home, its enough
Please.
Yours sincerely,
Zhongli
宝贝
(click to open)
宝贝
(click to open)
Dear Ajax,
Today, I ventured to the Huaguang Stone Forest. It was, as one might expect, quite lovely. I suspect you would find little enjoyment in such a place. The mountains are quiet, the paths long, and there is scarcely anything here that might offer you a worthy opponent. Perhaps it would prove too dull for your tastes. Yet, should one climb high enough, the view becomes quite remarkable. At the summit, I found a single Qingxin growing amongst the stone. It was an unassuming little flower, yet seeing it there made the ascent seem worthwhile. From where I sat, the clouds lay far beneath me, stretching across the mountains like a sea of white. I imagine you would have enjoyed standing so high above the world. You have always seemed rather fond of heights.
The sun had only just begun to rise when I reached the summit. The first light touched the mountains and slowly spilled across the clouds below. It was a beautiful sight indeed. Though, I must admit, even such a sunrise could scarcely compare with you. Perhaps that is an unfair comparison to make, but I find myself making it all the same. The birds had begun their morning songs, their voices carried gently upon the mountain air. I remained there for some time, listening to them and watching the light spread across the horizon. Had you been there, I wonder if you would have listened quietly beside me—or found some means of disturbing the peace. Somehow, I think I would have preferred the latter.
To Childe
Tartaglia, The 11th of the 11 Fatui Harbingers
My dearest, Ajax.
I do not know if this letter will reach you. I do not know if you will read it.
Perhaps you will see my name upon the seal and throw it into the nearest fire. Perhaps you will tear it apart without reading a single word. I would not blame you.
Still, I find myself writing.
I have rewritten this letter so many times that the words have begun to lose their meaning. Every apology sounds inadequate.
So I will not explain myself. I was wrong. Those are words I should have said long ago.
I was wrong to believe that knowing what was best for you gave me the right to decide it for you. I was wrong to mistake protection for understanding. I was wrong to believe that if I simply endured everything quietly, you would somehow be spared the burden of my fears.
Most of all, I was wrong to make you believe that you were alone.
You were never a burden to me, Ajax. And yet somehow I made you feel as though you were. I think that is the part I cannot forgive myself for.
I have spent millennia watching civilizations rise and fall. I have witnessed men lose everything and rebuild from the ashes. I have watched gods perish and mountains crumble beneath their feet.
I thought I understood loss. I did not. Not until you left.
The most humiliating thing is that Liyue has not changed.
The harbor still shines at night. The bells still ring in the morning. The streets are still crowded. People still laugh in the taverns. The sun still rises over the mountains as though nothing has happened.
Everything continues. Only I seem to have been left behind.
There are things I notice now that I never noticed before. The chair you preferred remains empty. There is still a place beside me at the table that I find myself looking toward.
Sometimes I hear a laugh in the harbor and turn before remembering that it cannot be yours. And every evening, for the briefest moment, I still expect to hear the door open. I know I have no right to ask you to return. But I ask despite it.
Because I miss you terribly. And because if there is even the smallest part of you that still wishes to come back, I want you to know that you can.
I do not ask you to forgive me first. Nor do I ask you to pretend that you are no longer angry.
You can shout at me. You can tell me everything I did wrong. You can tell me that you hate me.
I will listen. This time, Ajax, I will listen.
Perhaps loving you means trusting you enough to let you choose where you go, even when every instinct in me begs to follow. So go where you must. Become whoever you wish to become.
But if, somewhere along that road, you find yourself wanting to turn back—Please do.
I will be here. I have been here all along.
I would like, selfishly and desperately, to have the chance to become someone worthy of standing beside you again. And if that chance never comes, then I will accept it.
I only ask that you let me say this once: I am sorry. I love you.
I should have told you both before it was too late.
Please, Ajax. Please come back.
I don't know what I'm supposed to do without you. I keep thinking I'll hear you at the door. Sometimes I almost call your name.
Gods, I miss you. I miss your voice. I miss your stupid laughter. I miss the way you would complain about my tea being too bitter and then drink it anyway. I miss everything.
I would give anything to hear you call me old man again.
You can be angry with me. Please be angry with me. Just don't be silent. Don't disappear from me.
I can bear your hatred. I cannot bear not knowing where you are.
I don't want another memory of you. I want you.
So please, please come home, Ajax.
Please.
Can this place even be called your home?
宝贝
(click to open)
宝贝
(click to open)
Dear Ajax,
Today I walked through Guili Plains. You would've liked it. The sun looked beautiful as it sank beyond the mountains, though I found myself thinking that even the sunset could not compare to you. I think you would have liked watching it with me, perhaps filling the quiet with some ridiculous story, or challenging me to a fight simply because you were bored. I could almost imagine your voice beside me. I sat there until the sky grew dark, watching the glaze lilies bloom beneath the evening light. I picked one for you, though I suppose it is rather foolish to give a flower to someone who isn't here to receive it.
The sky was unusually clear tonight. I think you would've liked the stars. I imagined you lying with your head upon my lap while I told you the stories behind every constellation, and you interrupting me whenever you grew impatient with one of the longer tales. Perhaps you would have fallen asleep before I finished. I would not have minded. I think I could have stayed there until morning, telling you stories beneath the stars simply because you were listening. Liyue has always been beautiful, Ajax. I only wish you were here to see it with me.
Liyue Harbor
Wangsheng Funeral Parlor
Tartaglia
— Click to open —
Dear Baobei,
Perhaps I have had too much to drink tonight, because I find myself missing you more than I ought to admit. I have written you a sonnet, though I fear poetry has never been among my greater talents.
寄君
月照璃港水，风过旧亭台，
茶冷人何处，灯明客未回。
曾听君笑语，今对寂寥杯，
千年山河静，不及一人归。
(Eng translation)
The moon shines upon Liyue Harbor's waters,
the wind passes through the old pavilion.
The tea grows cold—where have you gone?
The lamps remain lit, yet the guest has not returned.
Once, I listened to your laughter;
now I sit alone with an empty cup.
A thousand years of mountains and rivers may be tranquil,
yet none are as precious as one person's return.
Yours sincerely,
Zhongli
Wangsheng Funeral Parlor
Perhaps I have had too much to drink tonight, because I find myself missing you more than I ought to admit. I have written you a sonnet, though I fear poetry has never been among my greater talents.
寄君
月照璃港水，风过旧亭台，
茶冷人何处，灯明客未回。
曾听君笑语，今对寂寥杯，
千年山河静，不及一人归。
(Eng translation)
The moon shines upon Liyue Harbor's waters,
the wind passes through the old pavilion.
The tea grows cold—where have you gone?
The lamps remain lit, yet the guest has not returned.
Once, I listened to your laughter;
now I sit alone with an empty cup.
A thousand years of mountains and rivers may be tranquil,
yet none are as precious as one person's return.
To Childe
Tartaglia, The 11th of the 11 Fatui Harbingers
This is the eleventh letter I have written since your departure. I miss you.
I still have not heard from you. Then again, I suppose Fontaine is quite far from Liyue, especially with the strict laws there. Is Fontaine treating you well? It is not as though I am keeping track of your whereabouts; the Traveler merely happened to pass this information along to me. I have heard that Fontaine is a land of art, so I thought I would make an attempt at it myself. I have written you a sonnet, though I fear poetry has never been among my greater talents.
凝视你
我对你的爱，远超言语所能表达。
即便每颗星辰化作一封信，每一片海洋化作一瓶墨水，我依然无法描绘出我对你深沉的爱意。
即便我穷尽千世，学习世间所有语言，我的心依然有说不完的话。
所以，如果这些文字不足以表达我的爱，请原谅；它们只是我爱你之深切的微弱影子。
鱼儿见到你，便忘了如何游动，沉入水底，仿佛连深渊都无法阻止它们看到你的倒影。
但如果我是一条鱼，我会跃出水面，只为更清晰地看到你，
向你游去，全然不顾身后的深渊。
即便这意味着我将永不复返，在消失之前能与你相见一次，我也觉得此生无憾。
你的美貌令鸟儿忘却了振翅。
但如果我是一只鸟，而你漫步于我的羽翼之下，我将悬停在你上方，生怕坠落便会与你失散。
让风带我飞越苍穹，让云朵从我羽翼下掠过——我绝不降落。
若我必须离开你才能重返天空，那天空又有何意义？
你的美貌令花朵羞愧地合拢花瓣。
但如果我是一朵花，我会为你做截然相反的事。我会为你绽放，直至花瓣撕裂，向着你的光芒伸展，
渴望成为足够美丽，配得上你片刻的凝视。当我的花瓣最终散落在大地，
我将心怀感激——因为我短暂的生命都为你绽放。.
你的光辉足以让月亮躲藏在云层之后。
然而，如果我是月亮，我无法想象如何躲避你。我会夜夜徘徊在你的头顶，
嫉妒那些能够陪伴你的繁星，而我却只能远在天边。我会闪耀，直到苍穹黯淡，只为照亮你的道路。
因为即便我观察世界千年，我依然会发现，我永远无法照亮任何事物，使其与你应得的光芒相媲美。
没有诗人能找到合适的词语来描绘你，没有画家能忠实地描绘出你的美丽。
没有雕塑家能从石头中雕刻出你的模样，没有歌曲能表达你存在的奇妙。
我为那些生老病死却从未像我一样认识你，从未见过你带给这个世界的光芒的人们感到惋惜。
还有什么比一生与如此美景相伴，却从未有幸一睹其真容更令人悲痛的呢？
Liyue seems quieter without your presence. I had never considered how much noise one person could bring into a place until you left.
I am enclosing this letter with something from Liyue—something I once considered far too precious to give to anyone. But now I think it would be better in your keeping. Perhaps it will remind you that, even from so far away, there are things here that have not forgotten you.
(Eng translation)
This is the eleventh letter I have written since your departure. I miss you.
I still have not heard from you. Then again, I suppose Fontaine is quite far from Liyue, especially with the strict laws there. Is Fontaine treating you well? It is not as though I am keeping track of your whereabouts; the Traveler merely happened to pass this information along to me. I have heard that Fontaine is a land of art, so I thought I would make an attempt at it myself. I have written you a sonnet, though I fear poetry has never been among my greater talents.
To Behold You
I love you more than words could ever contain.
If every star became a letter, every ocean an ink, I would still find no way to write the depth of what I feel for you.
I could spend a thousand lifetimes learning every language ever spoken, and still my heart would have more to say.
So forgive me if these words fall short; they are only the smallest shadow of how dearly I love you.
Upon seeing you, the fishes forget how to swim, sinking beneath the water as though even the depths could not bear to keep them from your reflection.
But if I were a fish, I would leap from the water just to see you more clearly,
rising toward you without thought of the depths below.
Even if it meant I could never return, I would consider it a worthy end to have seen you once before I disappeared.
Your beauty has caused birds to forget the motion of their wings.
But if I were a bird and you should walk beneath my flight, I would remain suspended above you, afraid that falling would mean losing sight of you.
Let the winds carry me across the heavens, let the clouds pass beneath my wings—I would not descend.
For what is the sky worth if I must leave you to return to it?
Your beauty makes flowers close their petals in shame.
But if I were a flower, I would do the opposite for you. I would open until my petals tore, stretching toward the light of your presence,
desperate to become something beautiful enough to deserve a moment of your gaze.And when my petals finally scattered upon the earth,
I would be grateful—for I had spent my brief existence blooming for you.
Your radiance is enough to make the moon hide behind the clouds.
Yet if I were the moon, I cannot imagine hiding from you. I would linger above your head through every night,
jealous of the stars that could accompany you while I remained so far away. I would shine until the heavens themselves grew pale, if only to illuminate your path.
For even after watching the world for a thousand years, I would still find that I could never shine upon anything as brightly as you deserve.
No poet could ever find the words to capture you, nor could any painter give your beauty a faithful shape.
No sculptor could carve your likeness from stone, nor could any song contain the wonder of your existence.
And I pity those who will live and die without ever knowing you as I have, without ever seeing the light that you carry into this world.
For what sorrow could be greater than living a lifetime beside such beauty, and never once having the fortune to behold it?
Liyue seems quieter without your presence. I had never considered how much noise one person could bring into a place until you left.
I am enclosing this letter with something from Liyue—something I once considered far too precious to give to anyone. But now I think it would be better in your keeping. Perhaps it will remind you that, even from so far away, there are things here that have not forgotten you.
<
宝贝
(click to open)
宝贝
(click to open)
Dear Ajax,
I am writing this letter from the Heyu Tea House while sipping my tea and listening to one of the storytellers recount an old tale. It reminded me of you. I find that many things do, these days. The sound of laughter from another table, the clatter of teacups, even the way the evening light falls across the harbor. I find myself remembering the evenings you would sit beside me, pretending to listen while inevitably interrupting the story with some question or complaint. I find myself wishing someone would interrupt me again. Pathetic, right?
I drew us today. I thought it would be simple after having known you for so long, yet I found myself staring at the page for quite some time. I remembered your hair first, then your eyes, then the shape of your smile. I remembered the way your expression changed whenever you were about to say something mischievous. I have lived for millennia and have had more than enough time to perfect the art of drawing, yet somehow I still could not do you justice. Perhaps it is because I was never trying to draw your face. I was trying to draw the way I remember you.
I have kept the unfinished sketch beside me while I drink my tea. It is not particularly good. You would probably laugh at it. I think I would like that.