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"Fine, fine, you win," Venti said, flopping dramatically onto the steps outside the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor and flinging an arm over his eyes. "Today is your day, old man. I'll follow wherever you lead. Even if it's to a library. Especially if it's to a library.”
Zhongli could not deny that the bard’s performance was mildly entertaining.
“Go on, break my heart,” Venti bemoaned sorrowfully.
Zhongli looked down at him, faintly amused. "I do not recall asking for a sacrifice of that magnitude."
"It's a very big sacrifice! I had a whole itinerary! Three taverns, one dubious street performer, a rooftop..." Venti peeked out from under his sleeve, grinning. "But I'm a gracious bard. Go. Choose. Revel in your power."
"I appreciate your generosity," Zhongli said, entirely sincere, and turned back through the doors.
Hu Tao was perched on the edge of her desk, swinging her feet and humming something probably unholy over a stack of paperwork. She looked up and grinned. "Mr. Zhongli! You have the look of a guy about to ask for something."
"I do." He inclined his head politely. "With your permission, Director, I would like to take the remainder of the day off."
"Oh? Is it a funeral emergency?"
"It is a leisure emergency."
She cackled, then waved a hand. "Of course! You've been working so hard lately, and honestly, there's barely anything to do today. Business is slow. Everyone's being annoyingly alive." Her eyes slid past him toward the doorway, where a head of messy dark blue hair and a very conspicuous green beret was poking in.
"Besides, you two have gotten really close since Lantern Rite. And that poetry gala! Very cozy. Very suspiciously cozy,” she said, narrowing her eyes.
"We merely share an appreciation for the arts, and as such have become good friends." Zhongli said.
"Mm-hm. Sure." She shooed them with both hands. "Go! Be cultured! Don't die, or if you do, die here, we have a discount."
"Thank you, Director. Truly," Zhongli said, bowing slightly. "I shall make this up to you."
"You'd better bring me back something good!"
"You have a discount," Venti whispered with delight as they stepped back into the sunlight. "I love her sense of humour."
"She is a remarkable businesswoman," Zhongli agreed. "Now. If you will follow me."
Venti followed him through the winding streets of Liyue Harbor, humming, counting rooftops, trying to guess the destination. Restaurant? No, they'd passed Wanmin. Teahouse? Warm, but a bit earlier than he'd have guessed. A bookstore?
It was a teahouse.
It was a teahouse with a very quiet corner table, a lacquered board already laid out, and a set of round seemingly wooden pieces stamped with red and black characters.
Venti stopped in the doorway like he'd walked into a wall.
"Oh, no," he said. "No, no, no. Zhongli. Zhongli, are you taking me to play- is this xiangqi?"
"It is." Zhongli pulled out a chair for him with the dignity of a man hosting a state banquet. "Liyuen chess. A game of strategy, patience, and long-term planning. I find it very soothing."
"You find a nap soothing," Venti said impassively.
"Naps are also soothing. They provide many benefits to the mind, body and soul alike, and are wonderful mood boosters," Zhongli merely explicated, dragging out the chair. "Please, sit."
Venti sat, slumped, and glared at the teapot as it was set between them. A small cup was placed in front of him. It steamed politely.
"Tea," Venti deadpanned.
"Oolong. A fine harvest, I am told."
"I want wine."
"It is the afternoon." Zhongli gestured, almost apologetically, toward the sunlit window.
Venti followed his finger, squinted at the sky, then turned back with the most baffled expression he could muster. "...And yeah? So?"
"So it is too early for wine."
"Too early? Zhongli, my dear, sweet, ancient pebble of a man, Time is subjective. Wine does not check the clock, wine does not wear a watch, wine does not ask 'is it too early?'..." He leaned over the table, grinning. "Wine just is, and so are we, and so's the sun, and the day's already begun."
"I do not doubt it. It does not change the hour." Zhongli lifted his cup and sipped, utterly serene. "We will have wine this evening. After the game."
"After the game," Venti groaned, sliding down until his chin rested on the table edge. "You're going to make me sit through an entire game of old-man chess, sober, while you meditate on every move like you're deciding the fate of the world. I'll age ten years, and you know what that means for me? I’m gonna become your age at this rate."
"I assure you I am quite well-preserved."
"Preserved is exactly the word." Venti poked a pawn-piece with one finger and it rolled gently into the center of the board. "Fine. Stubborn Rock. Mr. Punctual. Lord of Fossils. You get your tea and your stone-faced strategy. But I'm warning you..."
Zhongli arched one eyebrow. "Yes?"
Venti straightened, tugged his beret into place, and flashed an innocent, angelic smile.
"...I plan to enjoy myself."
Behind him, so softly that not even the teahouse's paper lanterns stirred, the faintest breath of wind curled around the edge of the table.
The first move was a pao to the center, as it always was. Zhongli set it down with a soft click and folded his hands.
"The central pao," Venti said, resting his cheek on his fist. "Of course. Bold. Daring. Utterly predictable. Do you open every game like this, Your Antiquity?"
"It is a sound opening."
"It's a sound nap is what it is." Venti slid a ma out in reply, tapped it twice for luck, and sighed into his tea. "Pao, pao, so very slow, all this sitting, nowhere to go..."
"You are free to move at any time."
"I know the rules, Zhongli."
Zhongli did not dignify that with a response. He advanced a bing. Venti advanced a zu. They went on like that for a while, the teahouse humming quietly around them, the oolong cooling in its cups. Zhongli studied the board with the grave attention of a man reading the terms of a treaty. Venti studied Zhongli, counting how many times he blinked, which was not many.
It was around the tenth move that Venti got bored enough to start playing properly.
Zhongli's ju had been eyeing the open file on the left, and Venti, who could see exactly where this was going, glanced innocently at the ceiling while one of his own zu drifted a quarter-inch to the side, just enough to wedge itself into the lane. There was no sound at all, only the faintest movement of air.
Zhongli reached for his ju. He paused. His eyes flicked from the zu, to the file, to Venti's serene, cherubic face.
"Curious," he said, and moved the ju elsewhere.
He didn't notice, Venti thought, delighted.
He did not notice for the next three moves, either. A xiang found itself one point to the left of where it had been. A shi shuffled sideways within the palace as if it had developed opinions. Venti's ma, which had been hobbled by his own bing sitting stubbornly at its leg, was suddenly unhobbled when a gentle gust tipped the bing out of the way and it rolled to a stop one square over.
"A fine move," Zhongli remarked, studying the ma's new position. "Though I could have sworn your bing was..."
"Right where it's always been," said Venti, with a hand on his heart. "I'm a very consistent person."
"Mm."
Zhongli lifted the teapot and refilled both cups. His gaze did not leave the board.
Venti, who was winning now (really, truly winning, if you didn't ask how), got cocky. Zhongli's shuai sat tucked in his palace, guarded by two shi and a single xiang that looked, frankly, a little lonely. Venti's pao was parked three ranks back, behind a zu. All it needed was a screen, a clear line, and a little help.
He closed his eyes, and exhaled through his nose.
The pao hopped. It did not slide. It hopped, lifting a clean inch off the board, crossing two files, and landing on the exact square it needed to be on, with a ‘tak!’ that sounded far too pleased with itself. The jiang across the board seemed to relax, in Venti’s imagination’s humble opinion.
"Check," Venti announced, leaning back and lacing his fingers behind his head. "And, if I'm reading this right, which I am, because I'm a genius, that's mate in two. Zhongli, my dear, you've been outplayed. Time to accept it, old man, and pay for the wine."
For a moment, Zhongli said nothing.
He set down his cup. He looked at the pao. Then he looked at the empty square where the pao had been two moves ago, and then at the lone zu that had somehow never been where it was supposed to be, and finally at Venti.
"Venti," he said gently. "That pao was on the second rank when I poured the tea."
"Was it?" Venti blinked, wide-eyed. "I don't think it was. It's been there the whole time. Maybe you're misremembering. You're getting on, you know."
"I have kept the ledger of this board since the first move." Zhongli's tone was perfectly mild. "My ju was blocked by a zu that did not belong in that file. Your xiang has traveled one point to the left without being moved. Your bing, which hobbled your ma, vanished at a convenient moment. And a pao does not hop, Venti. It captures by leaping over a single piece. It does not leap for the pleasure of the thing."
Venti gasped. He actually gasped, one hand flying to his chest, the other gripping the table as though he'd been struck.
"I... I can't believe you!" He sat bolt upright, eyes shining with wounded dignity. "Accusing me! In a teahouse! Over tea! A guest! A humble bard who's done nothing but play fairly and sip oolong like a gentleman!"
"I believe the… wind was also rather active."
"The wind is free, Zhongli! It goes where it pleases! You can't blame me for the weather!"
"I can when it is conveniently localized to the right side of the board." Zhongli paused, then added, with the flat frankness of a man stating a simple fact about the sky, "Venti. You do know the pieces are made of stone?"
Venti blinked at him. Slowly, he looked down at the board. He picked up the offending pao, turned it over in his fingers, and held it up to the light as though seeing it for the first time.
"Are they?" he said, in the smallest, most innocent voice imaginable. "Huh. Would you look at that. I thought they were just very dense wood."
"They weigh a good deal more than wood."
"Do they? I wouldn't know. I've never lifted one in a long time." He set the pao down with great care, then folded his hands in his lap and gave Zhongli the most angelic look in his repertoire. "Perhaps the wind simply has a... strong constitution."
"Venti."
"A very hardworking breeze!"
"Venti, I know you were cheating. I can feel every one of these pieces move."
"Then you should have said something earlier!" Venti flung his hands up, earning a few looks from the other people. "Honestly, this is appalling hospitality. Is this how Liyue treats its guests? I thought your people were famous for it. Tea, kindness, warm welcomes, the sacred bonds of the table. I'm a traveler from a far-off land! Mondstadt! Very far! And I've been sat in a corner, denied my wine, forced to play an ancient war game for hours, and now I'm being interrogated? What would the traditions feel, being so betrayed?"
"The tradition would likely say that I have been very patient."
"They would not."
"They would," said Zhongli, "and they would also say that a guest who cheats at the board has already forgiven himself on the host's behalf."
Venti opened his mouth, shut it, and slumped back into his chair with a huff. "Okay, that was a good one."
"I have had time to practice in your absence.”
For a while, neither of them spoke. The tea steamed. Somewhere outside, a merchant was haggling over fish. Zhongli, with that same unhurried care as before, began returning each piece to its rightful square. The pao went back. The xiang went back. The zu went back, and Zhongli gave it a small, apologetic pat.
"I will be frank," he said, setting the last piece into place. "I would rather lose honestly than win in this fashion. I had hoped, perhaps, that you might play a true game with me. Only once."
Venti looked at the board. He looked at the neat, quiet rows. He thought about it, and the honest truth was that he didn't hate the idea. He just found it a little dull, the way a song with no improvisation is dull, or a sky with no wind.
"It's not that I don't want to," he said at last, tracing a circle in a drop of spilled tea. "It's just... playing it straight is so boring, you know? Everything stays exactly where it's put. Nothing happens. I was only trying to make it fun!" He peeked up at Zhongli, a little sheepish. "I wasn't trying to ruin anything, I promise. I just thought, if I can't have wine, at least there could be some mischief."
Zhongli's expression softened by a fraction, the way the edge of a mountain softens when the light changes.
"I see," he said quietly. "Then I thank you for your effort. It was, I admit, rather inventive."
"Thank you," Venti said, with a dramatic bow from his chair.
"But it would mean a great deal to me," Zhongli went on, "if you would try. Just once. A game played in full honesty, with nothing but your own wit to guide you. I believe you would enjoy it more than you expect."
Venti was silent a moment. Then he sighed, and picked up his teacup with both hands.
"Ugh. Fine. Since it clearly matters so much to you, you big sentimental boulder." His smile crept out from behind the rim. "I'll play it straight. Honest as the day is long."
"Truly?"
"Cross my heart." He tapped his chest. "Besides, if I'm going to beat you, I might as well do it where you can't complain."
Zhongli's smile was small, but it reached his eyes. He picked up a pao, set it in the center, and gestured to the board.
"Your move, then."
Venti played badly at first. He sulked, he hummed, he lost a ma in the first ten moves and complained loudly about it. But somewhere past the half-hour mark, something shifted. He stopped fidgeting. His eyes narrowed. A ju slid down the file, a pao followed behind it, and when Zhongli looked up from the board, a faint line of surprise had appeared between his brows.
"That," he said slowly, "was an excellent move."
"I know!" Venti blurted, delighted before he could stop himself. Then he caught himself, cleared his throat, and tried to look unimpressed. "I mean. It was okay. I guess."
He did not manage to hide the grin.
The game ran long. The sun slid across the window and the shadows stretched over the board, and neither of them noticed. The tea went cold. A server came by to ask if they wanted a fresh pot, took one look at the two of them, and quietly left again.
Venti was good. That was the surprising part. Without the wind to lean on, he played the way he sang: loose, improvisational, a little reckless, then suddenly brilliant. He sacrificed a ma that made Zhongli sit back and stare at the board for a full minute. He trapped a ju in a corner Zhongli hadn't realized was a corner. Twice, Zhongli caught himself reaching for his cup and finding it empty, because he'd forgotten to drink.
"You are enjoying this," Zhongli observed, around the thirtieth move.
"I am not," Venti said, eyes fixed on the board, leaning so far over the table that his beret was in danger of falling. "I'm concentrating. It's different. Shh. You're breathing too loud."
"I was not aware that I was breathing loudly."
"You're breathing like a man who's about to lose."
"Ah," said Zhongli. "Then I shall endeavor to breathe more quietly."
By the endgame, the board had thinned to a handful of pieces each. Venti had a ju, a pao, and a lone zu that had crossed the river and was feeling very important about it. Zhongli had a ju, a ma, and two shi hugging his shuai like nervous bodyguards. It was undeniably close. It was so close that Venti had stopped talking entirely, which for him was practically a medical emergency.
Zhongli moved his ma. It was a quiet move, a small one, the kind you could easily overlook. It sat at the edge of the board looking harmless.
Venti stared at it.
He stared at it for a long time.
"...Oh," he said, very softly. "Oh, you snake."
"I beg your pardon?"
"That's a fork. That's a fork. You've been setting that up for six moves!" Venti pointed an accusing finger at the ma. "You let me take that bing on purpose! You baited me!"
"I merely made a sacrifice in the interest of position," Zhongli said mildly.
"That's what a baiter would say!"
"It is also what a person who has played this game for a long time would say."
Venti opened his mouth to argue, then looked back at the board and realized, with dawning, awful clarity, that there was no way out. If he moved his ju, the ma took his pao. If he moved his pao, the ju was lost. He could save one. He could not save both. He sat there, thinking, his fingers hovering over the pieces, while Zhongli waited with the patience of a river that has never once been in a hurry.
Venti moved his ju. The ma took his pao. It took four more moves, and all of them were Venti's best, and all of them were not enough.
Zhongli set his ju on the final square and said, quietly, "Checkmate."
Silence.
Venti stared at the board. He reached out and nudged his own shuai with one finger, as if it might change its mind. It did not. Then he flopped backward in his chair, arms spread wide, and let out a long groan at the ceiling.
"Noooo. I was so close! I was this close! I had you in a corner! I had you!" Venti lamented, flailing his arms wildly.
"You did," Zhongli agreed. "For a moment, I was quite concerned."
"Don't be polite about it. Be smug! Be insufferable! You won!" Venti rolled his head to the side and squinted at him. "You're not even gloating. Why aren't you gloating?"
"Because it was a very good game." Zhongli began, without hurry, to gather the stone pieces into their box, setting each one down with that same exacting care. "You played well, Venti. Better than I expected. I mean that sincerely."
Venti stopped. Something odd happened to his face. It started out as a pout, then flickered, then softened into something a little more unguarded than he'd planned on letting him see.
"...Really?" he said.
"Truly. That sacrifice on the left was inspired. I did not see it coming." Zhongli closed the lid of the box. "I would be honored to play you again."
Venti sat up. He considered this. His eyes narrowed, but there was a sparkle at the edges of them.
"Rematch," he said.
"Now?"
"Obviously now! Tomorrow! Next week! I'm going to practice. I'm going to train in secret, in the mountains, like a wandering swordsman." He jabbed a finger at Zhongli. "And when I come back, you're going to be so sorry you were nice to me, old geezer."
"I look forward to it."
"I mean it!"
"I do not doubt that you mean it." Zhongli rose from his chair and glanced toward the window, where the light had turned the deep, warm gold of early evening. He turned back, one eyebrow lifted ever so slightly. "Though first, I believe there is something we agreed upon."
Venti followed his gaze. The sun was dipping low over the harbor. The lanterns were just beginning to glow. And just like that, the biggest, brightest grin broke across his face.
"It's evening," he breathed.
"It is," said Zhongli. "Rather conclusively so."
"It's wine o'clock!" Venti leapt out of his chair so fast the teapot rattled, grabbed Zhongli's sleeve, and started hauling him toward the door. "Come on, come on, come on! You're paying, I'm thirsty, and I've been sober for hours, which is practically a crime against the nation of Mondstadt!"
"I did say after the game."
"You did! And the game is over, and you won, so you can buy the wine as a victory feast, and I'll buy the next round with my winnings from the rematch."
"You have no winnings."
"Not yet!"
Zhongli let himself be dragged, as he always did, with a small, fond sigh. At the door, he paused just long enough to place a few Mora on the counter for the tea, and a little extra for the server, who had been far more patient with them than they deserved.
Outside, the evening air smelled like roasted chestnuts and sea salt. Venti skipped ahead, humming something wordless and bright, and every few steps he glanced back to make sure Zhongli was still following.
He always was.
"Zhongli!" he called over his shoulder.
"Yes, Venti?"
"Next time," Venti said, grinning, walking backward through the lantern light, "I'm picking the game."
"I suspected you might," Zhongli said, sighing, knowing that the next time they spent time together would likely just be another night of drinking.
"It's going to be a very fair game."
"Of course."
"And the wind will have nothing to do with it."
"Naturally."
A small gust curled through the street, scattering a few paper lanterns on their strings, and tugged playfully at the hem of Zhongli's coat.
"...That was a coincidence," Venti said. “The wind can move on its own, you know?”
Zhongli only smiled, and walked on.