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In a land far from home, where a mild spring breeze whisked gingko leaves onto crimson glazed roof tiles, and the sweet scent of jasmine permeated the air like a heavy evening cloak, a Fatui Harbinger sat alone; his pockets were freshly lined with Mora from the Northland Bank—an early bonus for the new head honcho of the bank’s debt department—and his stomach lined with nothing but foreign liquor.

Because how was one supposed to eat if their utensils were just as difficult as the bow to master?

Childe sighed into his nth bowl of rice wine before waving down the closest server.

“Fuwuyuan, let me try a bowl of your strongest stuff next. Something that packs a punch.”

There was a hazy ambience to the scenery surrounding Third-Round Knockout; the Silk Flowers were dripping with dew, the tables (some with patrons, others vacant) glistened with the varnish of recently polished wood, and huh, the alcohol might have been taking a slight toll, because the ocean-like ripples he glimpsed when the waitron came his way made it look as though the gentleman was wading through puddles.

And if there was one thing that never seemed to happen within the oceanside city of Liyue Harbour, it was rain.

An older man in a teal tunic nodded before greeting him with a fist-and-palm salute, one which the Harbinger had been attempting to commit to memory. There were so many complex rules and mannerisms necessary for existing within Liyuan society; Childe had made an effort to acquire a few during the journey over, but academic discipline was never his forte, and a book’s insight couldn’t hold a candle to learning straight from the source. “Right away, Gongzi. I will bring you our most popular baiju; it’s the one favoured by regulars for its intensity.”

Childe raised a brow at that while glancing at the other tavern patrons; if their low-hanging heads and slumped bodies were any indications to go by, the empty bottles on their tables held promise. Perhaps he would finally feel a satisfying burn that bore a close resemblance to Fire Water. “Is it the same as whatever those gentlemen are having?”

A bow of the head. “That’s the one. Pricey, but worth every Mora.”

“Then, I’ll take it.”

It was a fruitless endeavour, nonetheless.

Although he was loath to admit it—his own egotism thumped by the childish inability to immediately adjust to his surroundings—Childe had spent the evening chasing the sensation of familiarity to no avail. It was a stain on his pride; the Tsaritsa’s Eleventh Harbinger was scarcely one to wallow in the inevitable discomfort that came with a new land. In fact, the early jitters of anticipation were things he regularly yearned for: lively battles, unfamiliar terrain, worthy opponents. Exploration was a hereditary trait passed down from his father, while bloodlust (hardly familial, yet just as acquainted) was practically ingrained into Childe’s very bones.

The Cryo Archon handpicked individuals who could make her dreams a reality, and Archons, Childe fit the job description to a tee: a Harbinger sought opportunity, valour, and slaughter, all while being permitted to discover the bounties and challenges of Teyvat. Who better for the role than himself?

He had only been in the Land of Geo for a few weeks; certainly not enough for Childe to grow antsy. His mission, though extensive, was straightforward: increase Northland’s financial control within the harbour to please the Tsaritsa, find Rex Lapis, retrieve the Gnosis, obtain Her Majesty’s praises. A simple assignment, and one which forceful diplomacy (with a sprinkle of skirmishing) could easily accomplish.

Or so it had seemed, before the Geo Archon’s exuvia plummeted down from the sky into Liyue Harbour, leaving Liyue without its oldest and most revered Archon.

And Childe without an Archon to wrangle.

Obtaining access to Rex Lapis’ corpse wouldn’t be too difficult, (even the worst of problems could be solved with a hearty helping of violence), but he was eager for a decent fight. Some Prime Adeptus that Rex Lapis was, falling victim to deicide before the Eleventh Harbinger found the chance to whip out his Hydro blades. Centuries of allowing the citizens of Liyue to flutter about without fear or trepidation had made the god soft.

The Tsaritsa would never allow herself to endure such an abject fate.

A container the colour of roasted chestnuts was placed next to Childe’s elbow, along with an undersized goblet. When the waiter carefully pulled off the red ribbon encasing the jar, the earthy, pungent smell of alcohol wafted directly into the Harbinger’s nose.

It could’ve been sharper.

“Many thanks.” Childe pressed Mora into the man’s willing palms, making his eyes twinkle and dimples deepen. Generosity was his first line of offense when it came to the Fatui’s approach to international relations; he begrudgingly preferred skipping the niceties and going after what he wanted directly, but if the Tsaritsa deemed his mission in Liyue one where extra caution needed to be taken, then he would do exactly that. The more pockets he filled, the less questions anyone would ask.

Especially since he was, at that moment, not what most would consider an exemplary figure of what a Fatui Harbinger should be.

The alcohol, which was a lush honeyed hue, went down smooth and quick; there was certainly a spice to it—something that itched Childe’s tongue before spiralling into the Abyss—but it still paled in comparison to his beloved liquor’s gratifying flame. A burn which singed the nostrils and licked at his throat before warming his frostbitten toes from the inside-out. A warmth that spread to his limbs the same way holding each of his siblings did after ambling through a snowstorm, or a late-night huddle by the pechka. The near-painful sear of Snezhnaya, the familiar heat of family.

The sensation of home.

“Pull yourself together, comrade,” he spoke quietly to himself before downing another shallow cup of baiju, drowning out the sounds of his irritated gut. The airy terrace was highlighted by its starved gurgles; Childe began making plans to buy takeout before heading back for the night, where he could stab his dumplings and eat in peace without the judgemental glares of passersby. “You’ll see them again soon. Wallowing in lonesome self-pity is for the weak.”

Rather than lingering around Chihu Rock for alcohol to corrode his innards until he could no longer waste a moment feeling forlorn, Childe would be better off re-donning his cordial Gongzi grin and mentally preparing for his next move. Disparaging alienation couldn’t impair the Harbinger if he were too intoxicated to feel.

There was a rare comfort that could be found in his current desolation, however: anonymity.

The Eleventh Harbinger was in no danger here. Not yet. His skills outmatched that of all the patrons surrounding the tavern, and hardly anyone of note knew that he had relocated to Teyvat’s busiest seaport. Other than La Signora, the likes of which Childe would rather fight to the death than share drunken thoughts under the moonlight, no person in the harbour posed him any threat.

But once his traveller’s obscurity disappeared, life in the seaside city would take on an entirely different genre of strain.

It wasn’t as if some friendly civilian would seek Childe out to lend an open ear; especially not in Liyue Harbour, where, sooner rather than later, the Harbinger mask slanted on the side of his head would become a well-known symbol to all those who crossed him. It represented an organisation infamous for deception and intimidation; an association which seized what they desired, never resting until the Tsaritsa’s thirst was quenched.

Such a notion in his drunken haze was both reassuring and simultaneously vexing.

Wasn’t there anyone in this foreign land who could offer him esteemed company?

The second round of the tavern’s so-called “finest” golden baiju barely left a sting; Childe poured himself a third, feeling more irritated than when he had first sat down. Though his head had grown liquor-heavy, (sobriety had become a far-off stranger by then), the Harbinger vowed to finish the bottle.

He would drink until the plaza, splayed out before him in amber lantern light, took on the icy, blinding cast of sunlit snow.

“Still not strong enough,” he muttered under his breath.

“Perhaps it's not the strength of the drink that troubles you,” a compelling, noteworthy voice resonated from behind him.

The suddenness of the greeting was startling; Childe felt himself jerk as he righted himself, the shadow of a figure appearing by his isolated table.

The Harbinger’s reflexes were prodigious; not even a practised Fatui Agent could hope to stand a chance against Childe’s agility.

And yet there stood Zhongli, consultant at the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor and trusted ally of the Fatui, casually sneaking up on the Tsaritsa’s Vanguard. In a windswept, flapping tailcoat with jingling embellishments, no less.

“Ah—” Childe racked his head for the proper term to address the consultant as per Liyuan customs; there were too many honorifics to remember them all by heart. “Laoban”? No, that was saved for buying and selling. “Shifu”? He was getting accustomed to using that whenever he approached Master Zhang… бля, it was definitely— “Zhongli-xiansheng! What a surprise to see you here this late in the evening.”

It was truly surprising; Childe had yet to see the man out in public without making some form of appointment, or during their introduction the day he had initially landed on Liyuan soil. Although the Wangsheng employee’s first impressions were good (well-dressed, scholarly, a bit stuffy all-around), the Harbinger wasn’t certain what to make of his Fatui collaborator. Sure, he was courteous, and seemed to hold more knowledge on Liyue and its customs than the bookstore by the Northland Bank, but there was something about him that made Childe question his motives.

Not that he wasn’t also pulling his own strings behind the scenes. Really, when it came to self-interests versus good intentions, the Eleventh Harbinger was a moral chameleon.

“Good evening, Childe,” Zhongli surmised, brushing a lone gingko leaf off his pauldron-adorned shoulder. His tone was calm, resonant, with a certain steadfastness to it, as if he were used to speaking in a way that gathered attention. “The weather called for a beautiful evening, so I thought I’d accept tonight’s temperate offering by taking a moonlit stroll.”

Zhongli made no move to settle down next to Childe; rather, he surveyed the table of emptied shallow cups and the jar of baiju, bright ochre eyes narrowing in thought.

Was he unimpressed with Childe’s demeanour? Even drunk, the Harbinger had managed to do everything necessary for decorum’s sake.

“I suppose I could say the same thing.” Childe chuckled, the fatigue in his limbs—perusing Tianqiu Valley that afternoon had been a treasure trove of substantial encounters—settling in alongside the buzz in his veins. “This is the first night in a while I haven’t sweated straight through my jacket.”

He shook the brown bottle towards Zhongli, signalling his dissatisfaction. Maybe if he were more sober, he would have skipped such a gesture. “Thought I would spend it sampling Liyue’s best liquor. Tell me, xiansheng, is there anything stronger at the bar? Are the tavern owners trying to dupe me into purchasing their entire liquor shelf before my pockets run dry?”

Zhongli, the epitome of composure, offered a slight smile as he moved himself closer to the vacant seat at Childe’s table. "Degui is known to be more economical than magnanimous when it comes to serving alcohol. Unfortunately, I do not believe you’ll find baiju more intense than the ones here.”

Childe scowled. “That’s what I thought.”

“Perhaps you are accustomed to exclusive alcohol from your home nation.” When the Harbinger motioned for Zhongli to sit, he flicked his coattails to the side, never allowing his stare to waver from Childe’s face. It was just as unnerving as it was captivating; there was something about that gaze. Something that made Childe’s skin itch, as if those piercing eyes could perceive the ache—cold and hollow—beneath his skin. “I have heard that Snezhnaya’s spirits are extraordinarily potent."

“Have you ever tasted Fire Water, xiansheng?” A senseless question; Zhongli didn’t seem like much of a traveller. Based on his encyclopaedic mind, honed on everything and anything Liyue, Childe figured he had spent his entire life mastering his own homeland. And even if there were Fire Water to be had somewhere in the harbour (which there wasn’t; Childe looked), rice wine or more traditional beverages were the drink of choice for refined gentlemen such as the funeral consultant. “It would give any discerning drinker a reason to move to Snezhnaya, subzero temperatures and all.”

Zhongli’s face hardly changed, though Childe swore he saw the slightest wince at the mention of winter.

“I myself tend to prefer mountainous breezes over the sharp cold of the arctic.”

“Oh, don’t act so fragile. I’m sure someone who also walks in the shadows could handle a little frost.” Childe snickered. “A few shots of my land’s magic liquor, and I promise you won’t even feel the cold.”

It felt strange speaking to someone so openly after days of seclusion; working tirelessly at Northland, while also planning for the primary purpose of his journey, had left Childe hungering for casual conversation.

Even if it were with a person he hardly knew at all.

“Hmm.” The table went silent for a moment as Zhongli observed Childe, making the Harbinger feel aversively exposed.

What was he seeing? Was the Wangsheng funeral consultant one to lay judgement on a man taking a moment to himself to just… wallow?

No. Childe believed himself a more-than-decent judge of character, and the individual in front of him didn’t seem like the type of person to add insult to injury.

Just his scrutiny alone—mesmeric, consuming, and lacquered in gold—was enough to garner an inkling of trust.

Childe sighed, his exhale sending a few wisps of Zhongli’s hair away from his jawline. He had quite the attractive profile; from this close, one could make out the sharpness of Zhongli’s nose, the pleasing symmetry of his youthful, agreeable features.

His Cor Lapis gaze, however, seemed out of place.

Such a young funeral consultant shouldn’t have possessed eyes which held the wisdom of a thousand lifetimes.

The brooch at the base of Zhongli’s throat quivered as he spoke, its molten honey tone shifting to rich ochre. “How are you enjoying Liyue thus far?”

The yawning cavern of melancholy Childe felt inside churned at such a question.

“Can’t complain.” A technical truth; besides the weather being a tad too warm and the sudden homesickness ravaging his innards like an overloaded Delusion, the Harbinger rather liked his new station’s location. “Liyue has a lot to offer someone who enjoys trekking through rugged terrain and exploring vast new areas. Heading Northland’s debt department also has its fair share of entertainment; there’s nothing I like more—well, besides a no-holds-barred showdown—than dealing with shifty individuals avoiding payments.”

If Zhongli was taken aback by Childe’s adrenaline-seeking proclivities, he made no show of it through body language. Instead, he nodded, taking in the information with evident interest. “I see. Liyue is indeed a nation steeped in thousands of years of history, cultural heritage, and remarkable multiplicity, making it an ideal location for exploration. If you crave adventure, look no further than the majestic peaks of Jueyun Karst or the jagged cliffs of Guyun Stone Forest. Surely, you’ll find no shortage of challenges to be had.”

Was that the name of the mountain he exuberantly conquered that morning? Jueyun Karst? Watching the sunrise at the summit was worth a hike of such calibre. “I… appreciate the suggestions.”

“And I am happy to provide them.” The old man who had served Childe his drinks hesitated by their table, seemingly excited to see the Harbinger’s new guest. Without saying a word, Zhongli bowed his head towards the server, who giddily took the motion as some type of agreement before scurrying off behind the bar. “If there is something you require—whether it be restaurant recommendations, travel guidance, or simply a second opinion regarding passing time in the harbour—do not hesitate to ask. Anything to make your stay in Liyue a journey well-spent, so you may reflect on the memories fondly.”

There was a soothing lilt to Zhongli’s voice, a reassurance which stemmed directly from his obvious love of everything Liyue-related. And because Childe found the delicate, euphonic lift of Zhongli’s voice easier on the ears than his own thoughts, he asked: “What about fishing spots, then? Or the best food stalls near Northland? So far, nothing’s come close to rivalling the salmon blini from my hometown.”

The funeral consultant shifted himself closer, giving Childe a moment to glance at the earring of gold and Cor Lapis shining brightly on the man’s left ear.

It looked pricey. Perhaps Zhongli had expensive taste; with his noble carriage and decadent ornamentation, Childe guessed that any Mora the consultant made at Wangsheng rarely materialised in his bank account.

“There are multiple fishing holes close to Wangshu Inn, a tranquil hotel on the outskirts of Bishui Plains.” No sooner had the attendant left than a porcelain teacup appeared on the table, fragrant steam wafting up from its surface. Zhongli’s explanation never faltered as he formally thanked the server and brought the tea to his lips, cooling the mist with a slow exhale, all while Childe baulked. Talk about being a regular. “Not only are there ravines filled with an assortment of koi and medaka, but the inn itself also boasts quite an incredible chef. You may wish to see if Smiley Yanxiao's vibrant dishes appeal to your palate; alternatively, should he be inclined to experiment, he might be open to attempting one of your Snezhnayan specialties.”

The awful yearning for home Childe had been attempting to smother away with liquor rattled between his ribs, jostling until it grew an ugly, tangible pulse.

“It wouldn’t taste the same.” He leaned a cheek against a gloved hand, sighing towards the moonlit sky. “Traditional Morepesok dishes are passed down through generations, and are rarely ever shared with folks outside of the village. I don’t even know how the blini stall in my town gets their caviar seasoned so perfectly, and trust my words, xiansheng, I’ve tried. I’ve all but used my Hydro weapons to shake down the babushka who runs the place. Those recipes are sacred.”

There was a barely-there chuckle that sounded from across the table; Childe peered through his fingers, which had somehow relocated to the top half of his face while he was reminiscing, to catch Zhongli’s eyes lifting into narrow, endearing crescents. The crimson edges of his lashes shimmered, scale-like in their lustrous gleam, and the Harbinger wanted to laugh at how everything about the man matched the cityscape surrounding them, down to the scarlet polish of the rooftops.

“Snezhnaya clearly has much to offer; it sounds like a nation worthy of your loyalty and pride.”

Heat bloomed in the depths of Childe’s chest; the feeling came on swiftly and with so much severity that the Harbinger worried it was a late case of liquor-induced heartburn. “That’s… well, you’re not wrong. I’m here right now because of my devotion to Shezhnaya and the Tsaritsa, so I thank them both for the wonderful opportunities they’ve given me. Not everyone can travel the world at their leisure as a career.”

A knowledgeable glint made its way into Zhongli’s still-tapered gaze, the joviality waning. “That would certainly come with its advantages. However, all good things in this world come at a price. No one can tip the scales without facing inevitable sacrifice.”

“Sacrifice?”

A yawning chasm: a fall lasting minutes, hours, days. A stale iron stench in the air that permeated clothes, skin and hair. Skirk’s lance cutting through the fog, thick as tree trunks, while lethal creatures snapped and clawed at his gangly limbs with no remorse.

Darkness: blood. Fight after fight after teeth-baring-heartstopping-bone-cracking fight: until the snowy sky of Teyvat snapped back into view.

A year’s worth of trials washed away like a bad dream. A family concerned, a boy conflicted, a promotion of deadly proportions earned.

A childhood lost, a Harbinger gained.

Childe smiled, though he could feel the action fall just short of sincere. “The only sacrifice I’ve made so far is being forced to replace my beloved Fire Water with weak, unsatisfactory alcohol.”

Zhongli sipped his tea soundlessly, Cor Lapis stare fixed pointedly on Childe. “Hmm.”

His inspection held a tangible gravitational pull, as though the very air bent and warped under the weight of Zhongli’s attention. He appeared to take note of every miniscule detail; golden eyes rested on Childe’s slightly sagging shoulders, the ever-present confidence in his demeanour shrouded by a newfound layer of tension.

The restlessness in him tonight, brought on by his (laughable, feeble) sense of displacement, must have been discernable.

For a spine-chilling fraction of a second, Childe felt a cogency from Zhongli that reminded him of being back in Zapolyarny Palace, where an infallible glare of frost ruled over all. It was enough to make his fists clench and goosebumps rise on the nape of his neck.

Childe would have to apologise to the tavern owner for doubting his liquor’s strength. Clearly, whatever was in that chestnut-coloured jug was stupefyingly influential, if it meant confusing the inquisitive stare of a business partner with that of his beloved, preeminent Archon.

“Why’re you looking at me like that?” He asked, brushing off the unnatural sensation with a smirk. “I’d be happy to send some your way, if you’d like. Or even better: we could go right to the root. Suck it back together in Zapolyarny and see whose liquor is truly the most formidable.”

It must have been the drunkenness, making him so bold.

“Alcohol, whether from the North or the East…” Zhongli’s voice was solemn as he returned Childe’s equally discerning gaze, brows furrowed. “…Will fail to aid the afflictions of the heart.”

Ah.

Childe was silent for a moment, his finger outlining the lip of his empty shot glass. He took a deep breath before letting out a short, humourless laugh, grin falling without preamble. “No wonder Her Majesty made you Liyue’s facilitator for the Fatui. You’re almost too perceptive.”

The wind picked up; enough to send the funeral consultant’s gilded hair, which sat neatly at the low of his back, into slight disarray. Childe watched the strands flutter aimlessly, mimicking the golden leaves scattered about their table. Everything about the man was warm, warm, warm. From the bronze of his skin to the Cor Lapis embroidered into his attire, he appeared incandescent, as if his corporeal form harboured Prometheus’ flame.

The Harbinger idly wondered if the warmth he so desperately sought could be found outside of a liquor bottle, if only for a brief time.

“It is crucial to forming a contract that one has all of the information necessary to benefit both parties.” Zhongli held out a gloved palm towards the decanter, two-thirds full, and lifted a brow. “Understanding one’s needs is the simplest method to achieving such a goal.”

“Seems as if everyone in Liyue Harbour is infatuated with contracts,” Childe murmured, “and yet the Geo Archon has fallen, ‘breaking’ his sacred vow to protect the nation.”

The arched brow that sat highly on Zhongli’s forehead suddenly creased, a dramatic change on such a stoic individual. If the man’s serious profile was perpetually intact, then the small tremors of emotion which passed through were miniature revelations to behold.

But the curiosity Childe felt regarding Zhongli’s demeanour couldn’t rectify the fact he had gone and essentially disrespected Liyue’s fallen Archon in front of an individual who idolised traditional values the way one may worship life itself.

Shit. Childe was going to make an enemy out of the only person willing (or worse: due to their contractual allegiance to the Fatui, forced) to spend an evening making small talk with an inebriated Harbinger.

“An Archon’s contract is broken not by death,” Zhongli emphasised, his voice meticulously polished into a civilised tenor, “but by neglecting their duties, or abandoning their nation before it has proven fully capable of protecting itself. Surely Rex Lapis was, prior to his untimely assassination, appropriately satisfied with what Liyue Harbour and its inhabitants have become.”

For someone so attached to ancestral practices and Liyue’s legacy, the funeral consultant sounded oddly at peace with his Archon’s passing.

But a god, satisfied with their nation?

Childe only knew of dissatisfaction. Her Majesty refused to fall—no, couldn’t. Simple as that—until all of the Gnoses were in her possession and Snezhnaya could be faultlessly shielded from the inevitable backlash. She was a soldier: honed and sharpened. Wrought iron perpetually shaped and bent in a kiln. Seeking improvement even in her mighty perfection.

She was an Archon worth swearing loyalty to for eternity.

“I wasn’t trying to insult anyone.” A boldfaced lie; Childe definitely meant to overstep, just a little. The Geo Archon’s death had stolen away his chance to brawl with Liyue’s greatest challenger, and his pettiness always made its quickest debut after drinking. “I’m just used to Archons being active enforcers in their nation’s past, present and future. The Tsaritsa spoke pretty highly of Rex Lapis; you can’t blame me for expecting someone…”

Formidable? Valiant? Breathing?

“Well, for seeking confirmation through a formal introduction.”

Or a life-altering battle. Whichever the Prime Adeptus preferred.

Zhongli, who had taken a moment to set his gaze upon Chihu Rock, an undeniable hint of amity colouring his features, hummed. “All mountains return to dust with time. Erosion is both apathetic and inescapable; gods are just as susceptible to death as any other creature upon Teyvat.”

“Huh.” The Tsaritsa, her rime-encrusted armour twinkling in the aurorean lights, weapon effortlessly set in preparation for battle, appeared behind Childe’s lids with every blink. “That just sounds like weakness to me. Do you think time eroded your Geo Archon’s ability to sense a threat within his own domain?”

Zhongli was a good sport; Childe’s abrasiveness exacerbated tenfold with every bowl of liquor he consumed. When it came to his overbearing spirit of inquiry, alcohol fanned the Harbinger’s swirling, evergrowing flames.

He was also entertaining Childe’s very obvious reluctance to bring the subject matter back to his humiliating bout of homesickness.

“The Geo Archon served Liyue for several millennia,” Zhongli answered, tapping a leathery finger on his chin thoughtfully. The longer he remained there, mulling over his responses, the more Childe noticed how every word the funeral consultant proclaimed was spoken with an immense amount of premeditation; he rarely answered without discretion, a trait usually saved for philosophers or elders. “He knew the populace just as well as he understood the ore deep within the Chasm, or the Mora he invented, or the precipice of Tianheng-shan. Perhaps he even believed that a drastic tragedy of such proportions could serve as the last stage of metamorphosis for Liyue, in order to become wholly independent from an Archon’s reign.”

“Pfft.”

Childe couldn’t hold back his snicker. After all, what’s a late night drink without a little loose-lipped discussion? “You can’t be serious.”

Zhongli’s eyes returned to tilted crescents, an appearance Childe found himself quickly growing fond of; his irises almost seemed to gleam along with the tempo of the Harbinger’s roused laughter.

Amused. That was a good look on the Wangsheng associate. He could almost fool Childe into believing they were hitting it off as comrades.

“Pardon my musings; I suppose that would be quite a far-fetched objective for an ancient, omnipotent Archon to desire. However, I’d like to believe Rex Lapis was an individual who invariably put his obligation to Liyue above his own egotistical yearnings. A ‘God of Contracts’, as their name suggests, would never stray from such a duty.”

The Harbinger surveyed Zhongli with a squint, noticing the funeral consultant’s face suddenly contained four sparkling ochre eyes instead of the two, which were already more than distracting enough. Liyuan alcohol was as good as a deadly affliction; seeing double shouldn’t come hand-in-hand with mellow drinks.

“Spoken like a man who knew the god personally.” He snorted, before swigging the remnants at the base of his cup. “Really, xiansheng…” Childe was growing more comfortable with the honorific, its soft presence on his tongue coming and going with ease. “I respect your faith. However, I’m also an utmost believer that only the strongest deserve my loyalty.”

A small huff of breath, with the slightest upturn of the lips.

Zhongli was how one might describe the harbour at sunrise; his coat sleeves glistened as he moved to cross them, and Childe swore the fireflies surrounding the pavillion could never live up to the delicate embers tossed about under the moonlight by Zhongli’s figure.

He was the most interesting person Childe had met in Liyue thus far, and there was obviously more than just his persistent omnipotence to blame.

“Proof of strength exists in more than just the corporeal. Trusting in Liyue’s people, believing in their ability to thrive without an Archon…” Zhongli paused. “Would you not consider that a decision made through strength of will?”

Placing one’s conviction into an entire mass of people was, Childe supposed, a difficult task to accomplish. The Harbinger's personal circle was a small one; he only surrounded himself with the most formidable individuals, and preferred not to waste his “abridged” lifespan (it was best to remain honest regarding the risks that came with his line of work) on folks who couldn’t hold their own.

Which was why the Geo Archon’s death seemed so unusual; how does a god—the oldest of the Seven, who had survived both the Archon War and the Great Cataclysm—find themselves bested by an unknown assailant during such a precarious moment for Liyue Harbour?

“Internal strengths can’t compare to external ones,” Childe countered. “I’ve seen plenty of so-called ‘strong-willed’ warriors thwarted in battle by brute force.”

Zhongli shifted his focus to where the Rite of Descension took place only a short while ago; the area was still heavily guarded, while the Qixing worked tirelessly to catch their beloved Archon’s murderer.

Childe scoffed. He was honestly surprised he wasn’t at the centre of the Millelith’s investigation yet.

The bottle of baiju was swiftly picked up by the funeral consultant; before Childe could give the man any attitude over his shameless thievery, he leaned over the table to top up the Harbinger’s bowl. The arc of shimmering liquor fell seamlessly, as if it were cascading from a priceless porcelain teapot instead of a rounded decanter.

“Perhaps it all depends on the battlefield.”

Childe raised his chin in thanks before downing the bowl in one hard gulp. His vision had softened around the edges; the blurred geometric patterns of Zhongli’s coat looked serpent-like as he fixed the silken fabric of his collar.

“Are you saying Liyue Harbour is in the midst of a war, xiansheng?”

A low laugh; the sound was cavernous, stretching far beneath the harbour’s shallow port. “A Fatui member of your prestige should be familiar with the multiplicities of warfare; there are many challenges ahead for a land freshly released from an Archon’s protection. The transition will be daunting, as this world comes with no shortage of difficulties to endure. But know this: however fierce the darkness may be…”

Sorry...to also have you shoulder the grievances of the world.

Zhongli’s voice resonated with the mighty grandeur of a well-known speech; one that Childe could vividly recall, phrase by phrase, directly from his memories.

“It cannot last. The overwhelming pressure may intensify, but it cannot crush the spirit of Liyue Harbour. Like the molten core of Teyvat, these trials and hardships will shape character: it is through such trials that a nation is made unyielding.”

Since you could endure my bitter cold, you must have the desire to burn?

Childe hardly expected his unplanned evening conversation with his brand-new colleague to take on such significant weight.

“You’re serious,” the Harbinger baulked, both amazed and impressed at Zhongli’s foresight. “You really think something momentous is happening here in the harbour.”

And boy, was the consultant ever right on the Mora.

Zhongli nodded, his chin raised to meet Childe’s torpid gape.

“It is time for the people to act together…” His words were potent; he conversed both with the Harbinger and another presence, one beyond Childe’s realm of corporeality. “…And place unnecessary quarrels aside for the good of their birthplace. Such a loss should bring unity; a common goal, bolstered by devotion, will lead the harbour out of the shadows of uncertainty into a prosperous new era.”

Childe couldn’t help the way his slow blinks paved the way to limp, heavy lids while Zhongli spoke. He pictured himself in the funeral consultant’s position, anticipating a future of endurance without the Archon who had acted as his guiding light for so long, eagerly hoping that Snezhnaya would be able to weather the storm such a loss would brew.

If his family were here, would he worry for them in the same way?

With the Tsaritsa watching over their well-being, he felt comforted; that was a comfort Liyue Harbour no longer had.

Their conversation was a thread tugging at Childe’s heart, slowly tightening with every word; it had constricted long before, since the first sip of a drink that lacked the essence of home.

Zhongli’s commentary—essentially an empowering declaration of his allegiance and commitment to Liyue—brought Childe back to his first proper meeting with Her Majesty, as he awaited his newfound directives as her Eleventh Harbinger.

Then, burn away the old world for me.

“And when the smoke clears…” Zhongli sighed. “I simply hope Liyue will leave the frontline relatively unscathed, and ultimately, victorious.”

A sudden pressure emerged within Childe’s chest—an acute, inescapable tension that felt like a thousand hands clawing their way upwards, desperately reaching for the solace Zhongli’s speech provided; the affinity of his words, his impenetrable convictions.

There was a leader within; Childe could recognize the flare of a trailblazer’s mettle. The flames weaved around the consultant’s pronouncements, reigniting the eternal embers lit by the Cryo Archon during his promotion ceremony and setting his yearning ablaze.

Chihu Rock slowed to a standstill; the radiant colours of lanterns and frescoes dulled, the continuous voices in the background diminished into low static, leaving no distractions for Childe to cling to. All that remained was Zhongli’s presence, and his alone.

An unfamiliar ethereal glow trailed down the ochre of the consultant’s hair, the last vestiges of light from a centuries-old civilization, struggling to rekindle the flame anew. The glistening light was warm, (his Majesty’s glow was cold, so cold and frosty and scorching in its radiance), but the golden lustre suited the man beyond doubt.

If he were sober, perhaps Childe would have thought about such a phenomenon further.

“You really adore this place,” he murmured to Zhongli, who refocused his gaze, previously lost to memories, sceneries, possibilities which Childe couldn’t see. He speculated if they were at all similar to his own personal preoccupations: warm and familial, or simply sentimental. “Don’t you, xiansheng?”

“Mm.” The funeral consultant nodded, the fondest of smiles gracing his face. His Cor Lapis stare reflected the beauty of Liyue Harbour around them, its attentiveness proving devoutness with every glance. “It is my nation.”

So matter-of-fact, so open in its emotion.

“It is my home.”

“бля.”

Childe’s eyes began to sting—his only warning before his body surrendered to the alcohol-fueled exhaustion he could no longer control, the melancholy he could no longer fight.

The pressure had nowhere left to go but out.

“I miss my family.”

Zhongli’s lips parted, a small inflection of change at the sudden announcement.

“I haven’t seen my siblings in ages.” Childe’s voice broke into a whine, and oh, that was mortifying, but the words continued to tumble upwards and over the Harbinger’s tongue with mighty determination. “What if they don’t even recognize me anymore? I couldn’t make it for Tonia’s half-birthday this year. And you know what? My youngest brother learned how to tie a clove hitch without me.”

He refused to acknowledge the way his eyes blinked rapidly, a chaotic bid to keep the moisture from clinging to his lashes and distorting his vision even further. Childe had no time to mourn the death of his calm, cool and collected image; he was too busy muffling the way his words were inflected with ugly snivels. “This year’s ice fishing tournament, Maslenitsa, and the Christmas Festival—one by one, I’ve missed them all. I try to visit as often as possible, but it never seems to be enough. Every time I return, I find something new: someone’s grown another inch taller, another tooth has been lost, another skill learned without my expertise. And my littlest brother’s birthday is around the corner—he’s turning seven, I can’t even believe it, it feels like only last week he was using my old medallions as teethers—and here I am, once again, on the other side of the horizon, shipping the fanciest toys I can find overseas to make up for the fact that I can’t be there.”

The silent lull following Childe’s wheezed last phrase left room for Zhongli to speak; which, if the man were as smart as he seemed, would result in a harshly-bid farewell and nothing else. Something quick and painless: a pat on the back, a hasty retreat, anything to keep Childe from embarrassing himself more than he already had.

A hand came to rest on Childe’s shoulder pauldron: the Harbinger’s skin remained untouched, and yet, with the gesture came Zhongli’s warmth.

“You are a caring brother.” He spoke with such finality that, for a moment, Childe almost believed him.

Almost.

“Those who are inebriated rarely hide their truest intentions, physically—” He motioned to the Harbinger’s face, where his cheeks quivered to quell the hideous expressions he made when drunk crying, “—or emotionally. Any person who would fret over their family’s well-being is one who they are lucky to have.”

“No.” Childe shook his head rapidly. What was he doing? They had been having such a genuinely fruitful conversation regarding Liyue and its tribulations; information the Harbinger should have been filing away for later.

Rather than accomplishing anything productive, he had likely convinced his new business partner to never collaborate with the Fatui again.

That realisation only made the anguish on his face all the more obvious. “Look at me: what would I do if they saw me like this, homesick and deflated like a popped balloon? I’m a weak excuse for both a Harbinger and a big brother.”

He was fortunate the surrounding area had cleared out; he and Zhongli were more or less alone, giving Childe some much-needed space to collect himself.

Just how long had they been talking, exactly?

“What you are…” Zhongli, who must’ve been a professional at calming hysterical drunks (because how else would a person be in possession of such patience?), replied in a tone that was wholly reassuring. “…Is human. Even those who are seen as untouchable have their moments of vulnerability. Mortals, divine beings, elementals… Even Archons cannot escape their own sentiments forever.”

He pinched the stem of a gingko leaf that had fallen by Childe’s jar of liquor, spinning it back and forth with his fingertips.

“We all yearn for the familiar, for a connection. Doing so…” Childe could’ve sworn there was a touch of wistfulness in the way Zhongli eyed the leaf as he spoke, though he concluded he was likely projecting. “...Is a part of existence.”

Its colour was the buttery gold of sun-dappled memories; of warm, nostalgic autumn afternoons. Of the liquor the Harbinger had treated as a lifeline the entire evening, as he surrounded himself in the gilded hue of the Land of Geo.

Zhongli’s hand remained a steady weight on his shoulder, grounding him; as though he could physically hold back the tide of emotions threatening to surge forward.

Childe could tell the man wasn’t used to making physical gestures; Zhongli’s arm was too stiff, hand curved too tightly for a comforting grasp. And yet, his words had hit home like a steady, anchoring presence—a voice of calm assurance, yet strong enough to inspire confidence. Each word seemed to carry the weight of lived experience and wisdom, delivered with a calm authority that inspired complete trust in the guidance offered.

The Harbinger found himself focusing on the warmth radiating from the funeral consultant’s touch, right up until it was suddenly taken away.

He couldn’t remember the last time someone had comforted him like that; perhaps before Childe had left for his travels, months ago.

Childe slumped deeper into his seat, using his hands to obscure the better half of his face. “That concept only applies if you’re an Archon yourself, and can afford the leniency of accepting humanity’s shortcomings. And somehow, I don’t believe you and I—no offense, xiansheng—are held to the same standards by our respective Archons. Or…ex-Archons.”

Zhongli must have leaned back, judging by the way his chair creaked. Even with his eyes covered, Childe could feel that omnipotent stare melting a hole through his Harbinger mask.

His blurred peripheral—still visible through the leather of his gloves—gleamed with golden light; just what kind of Geo Vision did the funeral consultant possess to make everything around him so damned bright?

“I value your honesty. Vulnerability does not diminish your role as Snezhnaya’s chief diplomat; in fact, I would say it enhances it. There is much to be said for a man bound by the invisible strings of those he loves.”

Invisible strings that inevitably held him back.

Childe would never actually consider his family as a hindrance; they kept him grounded, pushing him to work harder for their futures. But if someone as far-removed as Zhongli could already tell that the Harbinger had something to lose, then he was hardly a capable vanguard for the Tsaritsa.

“For someone in such a dark profession…” Childe's voice wavered, slurred and thick, as though each word was a challenge to pull into shape. “…You phrase everything so nicely. Like a song, or a poem. Only the poem of my life in your mouth still sounds pathetic, even with all of your fancy metaphorical statements.”

Childe couldn’t help lifting his face away from the confines of his hiding spot when he heard a fond chuckle resonate from deep within Zhongli’s throat.

“Are you— Are you laughing at me?”

“Not at all.”

The man schooled his features (which had hardly moved more than an increment upwards) before clearing his throat. “Your predicament is nothing to scoff at.” Zhongli gestured with a brief outward palm, all while keeping the movement subtle. “However, your ability to emphatically articulate while being so heavily under the influence…creates quite the humorous disparity.”

“I’m not even—” a jarring hiccup interrupted Childe’s words, an action he would artfully pretend never happened, “—drunk.”

Perhaps it would have been best to simply accept the obvious.

Childe’s gaze settled on the battered scar across his pauldron, and he gave a watery, forced sigh. “You know,” he started, forcing his words past the fog, “Fatui soldiers in Snezhnaya are taught to fight in the cold, where you can barely feel your face. We’re trained for harsh winters. Empty tundras. Battles where you forget why you’re even fighting, except that it’s what you were trained to do; your life’s given purpose. But now…” He let out a half-laugh, brimming with lament. “I’m sitting here, talking about…feelings.”

“You’ve wandered far from the land of Cryo; where, according to your accounts, the physical health of a soldier is prioritised over the mental,” Zhongli remarked. Even following laughter, his voice sounded rich and steady. “It isn’t easy to face painful emotions, even for someone like yourself.”

Childe chuckled, the sound tinged with both humor and bitterness. The world had become syrupy slow; the Harbinger threw his head back to face the sky, thoughts scattering like gingko leaves flying through the wind. “You sound like my mother.”

The fragrant steam of Zhongli’s tea—a new scent to Childe, an unknown variety that brought comfort rather than foreign disdain—mingled with the salt-tinged harbour air, creating a strange harmony between warmth and the slowly cooling breeze of the evening.

There was a glimmer of something: it was small; an internally felt thing. But Childe would know the sensation of admiration anywhere, especially as a man who found little care in the fleeting connections made during his travels. And whether purposeful or not, there was a camaraderie between himself and the funeral consultant; he shared openly, without fear of judgement, and offered Childe the same jubilant courtesy.

But admiration was saved for Archons, and Childe refused to fall to his knees for a nice man in a tailcoat just because of some well-intended conversation.

After a moment of silence, Zhongli spoke. “I have been told that my words have a pedantic quality to them. Apologies; I did not mean to lecture you.”

Childe snorted.

Said the man whose so-called lecture had provided the most comforting solace Childe had felt since the moment he had disembarked from his Fatui cruiser, stepping onto the shores of Liyue.

“Hardly my senior, and yet so full of wisdom.” He glanced up at Zhongli, turning away from the ink-blotted sky. The funeral consultant met his gaze with a calm that seemed to pierce through the waves churning within, resurging the tranquil waters of what Childe had hoped alcohol would accomplish. “You have a lot to say, xiansheng, but it’s rare to meet a fellow who actually weighs words with the value they deserve.”

Thank you.

Childe didn’t say it, even though he should have. Some things (when plagued by a sensitive, wounded pride) were near-impossible to voice, but the Harbinger believed a solid, genuine compliment could bridge the gap between his own sentiments and the funeral consultant’s kindness.

Or he could do what he did best: handle the bill.

Zhongli’s eyes tapered; if Childe hadn’t known any better, he would have thought the man found something entertaining from his observation.

“Rex Lapis himself placed the importance of words above all else; for what is there, if not words, to bind promises, uphold agreements, and ensure trust?”

Childe lifted his wallet and shook it, the multitudes of Mora within jingling with a bloated arrogance, mocking the very concept of scarcity. “Most people would say Mora could fulfill all of those needs.” An organic smile stretched his lips when he threw his coin purse at Zhongli, who caught the projectile with the quietest ‘oomph.’ Never underestimate the sheer force of a Harbinger’s hard-earned coinage. “Though I suppose, for argument’s sake, Mora can’t buy trust. Not in the grander scheme of things.”

“Mmm. Precisely,” Zhongli said with a knowing nod. He held the bag of Mora in one hand, then the other, acting as a human-sized scale. “The gravity of one’s words are worth their weight in gold.”

“Or Fire Water.”

The consultant smiled, and Childe felt the last vestiges of his ability to stay upright leave him. He splayed himself out on the table as Zhongli asserted: “Or Fire Water.”

As the lanterns overhead grew in brightness, and the Harbinger’s hour-or-so-long resistance against sobriety finally reached its denouement, Childe allowed himself a moment of repose. A brief second to inhale the sweet aroma of Zhongli’s tea, reminiscent of apricots and peaches, an almost honey-like fragrance that kissed his cheeks as it wafted across the tabletop.

He could’ve fallen asleep to such a sensation.

“What’s that tea flavour, anyways?”

Zhongli had been straightening one of his gloves; his Cor Lapis gaze hung overhead, Childe lying haphazardly beneath it, as he turned his attention from the leather to his porcelain cup.

“Hmm?”

Childe pointed with a lethargic finger, nearly bowling over the empty jug of baiju in the process. “Your tea. It smells nice, and you obviously enjoy it, since the waiter knew your order by heart. What is it?”

“Longjing.” Zhongli gripped the cup, removing the soft caress of steam hovering over the wood before soundlessly taking a long, satisfying sip. “Otherwise known as ‘Dragon’s Well Tea’. As of late, it is my drink of choice.”

“Ah. Does its name have something to do with the Geo Archon?” Childe asked, lost to eyes that gleamed brightly at the revisiting of the subject. A dragon's tea, for a fallen draconic exuvia. “You seem like the type of guy who has a reason for everything he does. A man with a plan. All your actions, strategized right down to your tea.”

A pause: Childe waited patiently for Zhongli to respond. He surveyed the man’s face, a face that grew easier to shamelessly ogle as the minutes passed. His scholarly bearing no longer appeared nondescript; it was respectable, intuitive and refined. His sharp chin, well-defined nose, and lithe features shifted from benign to riveting, and really, how was it possible for someone so close to Childe’s own age to have both a matured countenance and a youthful glow?

It was a face, he surmised, that made staying in Liyue Harbour seem a little more appealing.

Finally, the funeral consultant’s lips lifted into a small half-smile. “Would you like to hear the story of how it received such a name?”

Was it common to find a colleague’s voice so soothing? Childe felt himself drifting off to the pacifying cadence of Zhongli’s deep tenor. He shrugged himself back into consciousness, making sure the funeral consultant saw the action as a positive gesture. “If I didn’t, do you think I would’ve asked?”

Another smile, this time broader, more powerful, as if it could shift the very air around them. Childe couldn’t help but think that Zhongli shouldn’t be allowed to smile like that—there was something far too captivating about it. How had he ever mistaken the man for stuffy? There was a depth to that smile, a warmth and subtle mischief that made it clear: the stoic exterior was just that—an illusion.

“Very well.” The funeral consultant’s grin set the midnight harbour alight, not unlike that of the sun’s first brush against untouched snow. “If you have the cognizance to spare.”

Childe laughed, his breath fogging up the polished varnish of the table.

“I can listen with my eyes closed.”

Thank you, again.

“Alright, as you wish.” Zhongli’s words were tinged with elation; if oration made the man that happy, Childe would be sure to give him more opportunities. “The tea’s namesake is based around a story regarding a small village in Liyue, which experienced a harsh drought centuries ago. The inhabitants had prayed to a kind dragon that was living close by a well—”

“Let me guess: it wasn’t just any dragon, was it?”

“Indeed, it wasn’t a dragon at all. Rather, it was the Prime Adeptus in his draconic form. When rain fell from the sky, the village changed its name into Longjing, or ‘Dragon Well’, as a tribute to the god who aided them in their time of need. However, what isn’t well known is that Rex Lapis hadn’t altered the weather in the slightest; instead, he had sought out the aid of his closest Adepti companions. One, in particular, possessed knowledge far beyond the ordinary: a master of ancient technology, capable of manipulating and controlling weather conditions, a skill that had been brought to life through her mechanical expertise. Only through collaboration was it possible to save the village from an unfortunate demise. Currently, the people of Liyue—including myself—hold the belief that Longjing tea brings good fortune in uncertain times. The ancient tale surrounding it carries a subtle reminder of the benefit of synergy, a value I consider essential.”

For the first time that day—no, possibly even that week—Childe didn’t feel the pang of homesickness gnawing at his chest.

The tension in his body ebbed away, replaced by a tranquilizing heaviness that he couldn't resist. Childe’s thoughts—tangled with memories of Snezhnaya and Zhongli’s silken river of stories, all clouded over by inebriated ambiguity—grew softer, quieter, until they faded into nothingness.

The Harbinger’s mind drifted into dreams, cradled by the golden warmth of sleep as Zhongli’s voice faded into the background.