Archive of Our Own

The morning light catches on the edge of Xingqiu’s blade as he runs a cloth methodically across its surface. The sword— an heirloom of the Feiyun Commerce Guild— gleams with each stroke, reflecting fractured light across its wielder’s focused features. Beside him lay an unopened letter bearing the official seal of the Liyue Qixing.

"Young Master, do drink your tea before it gets cold," comes the smooth, measured voice from behind him as Zhongli appears, setting down a porcelain cup with practiced precision.

Xingqiu doesn’t turn around. "I didn't ask for tea, Zhongli," he replies softly, continuing the rhythmic polishing of his blade.

"You never do."

He sighs. "And yet, you always arrive."

"Yes. And that’s a given, since it’s in the nature of our binding." He clears his throat. “A proper morning ritual includes Yunlai White Tea. The honey has been added precisely as you prefer." Zhongli stands perfectly poised, amber eyes gleaming subtly beneath his composed exterior. His gaze shifts to the sword in Xingqiu's hands, then to the sealed letter waiting attention. "Perhaps you would allow me to tend to your blade while you address the Qixing’s correspondence."

The young master turns, his delicately arranged fringes shifting in the breeze. "You seem eager to get your hands on my steel this morning," Xingqiu remarks, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "Should I be concerned about your intentions?"

"My intentions are always transparent, Young Master," Zhongli replies, extending his gloved hand for the weapon. "To serve impeccably until our contract reaches its... conclusion."

"How reassuring," Xingqiu says dryly, but relinquishes the blade nonetheless. Their fingers brush during the exchange, a momentary contact that lingers longer than necessary. "One might almost forget the price to be paid."

Zhongli's lips curve into a subtle smile as he accepts the sword. "I assure you, I never forget. Not even for a moment. And I do hope the same thing goes for you, my Lord." He examines the edge with critical eyes. "Your technique has improved, though you favor the edge over the fuller. A common oversight among mortals— always focused on the cutting edge, yet neglecting the core."

Xingqiu reaches for the tea, watching Zhongli over the rim of the cup. "A pointed observation. Is that how you view our arrangement, then? All edge and no substance?"

"On the contrary," Zhongli replies, running the cloth along the blade with mesmerizing precision. "Our arrangement has exceptional... depth. Few contracts have engaged me quite so thoroughly as ours did. And that’s coming from the God of Contracts himself, no less." His amber eyes flick up to meet Xingqiu's gaze. "But the letter awaits, Young Master. The Qixing are not particularly known for their patience."

With deliberate slowness, Xingqiu picks up the sealed correspondence, his signet ring— his father's ring, now his— glinting in the morning light. "Neither am I." He breaks the seal with a decisive snap. "Though I've found certain servants worth the wait."

"Your generosity knows no bounds," Zhongli murmurs, his attention seemingly fixed on the sword even as his awareness remains keenly on his master. "But I assure you, I only live to exceed your expectations."

"Until you don't," Xingqiu counters, scanning the elegant script within the correspondence. 

The blade gleams under Zhongli’s hand, every motion precise. Xingqiu’s expression grows serious as he reads further. "Another case of missing children from the Harbor. The third this month."

"How distressing," Zhongli comments, though his tone remains even. "The young are so vulnerable, so easily held captive."

Xingqiu glances up sharply. "Some predators will find themselves outmatched in this hunt."

"Indeed," Zhongli agrees, testing the sword's edge with his thumb. A bead of something too iridescent to be human blood wells up, which he wipes away with casual elegance. "A predator who hunts children is merely vermin. Hardly worthy of being called a predator at all, if I do say so myself."

"For once, we agree." Xingqiu places the letter aside. "It seems your work with the blade is finished. Prepare for departure then. Inform the others that we will require their assistance. And have the carriages readied," he instructs. "We leave for the Harbor within the hour."

“As you wish.” Zhongli presents the now perfectly polished sword with a bow, holding it across his palms. "Your weapon, Young Master. Sharpened to perfection, as all your instruments should be." As Xingqiu reaches for the hilt, Zhongli adds, "Including your humble servant."

Xingqiu smirks. "You are many things… Morax," he replies softly, accepting the sword and testing its balance with a practiced hand. Then, he lifts Zhongli’s chin with the blade's tip. "But ‘humble’ has never been among them."

"You wound me," Zhongli says with a smile that suggests he is anything but hurt.

"Not yet, I will not," Xingqiu murmurs as he retreats his sword. "But the day may come."

"Then I shall await it eagerly, my Lord," Zhongli responds, bowing with perfect grace.

As the butler leaves the room, Xingqiu stills for a few minutes and absently runs his hand over the eyepatch that covers his right eye. The price for his vengeance seems distant compared to the immediate task of serving as the Qixing's Watchdog.

After all, what value did his soul have when compared to justice for his family and protection for Liyue?

The restored Feiyun Manor stands as a testament to both traditional Liyue architecture and Zhongli's impeccable taste. Though essentially identical to the original family estate that had burned to the ground, the new manor now possesses an elegant simplicity that Xingqiu prefers. The gardens are meticulously maintained, with flowing water features that pay homage to the Young Master's Hydro Vision.

In the kitchen, Xiangling works with focused intensity, her navy blue hair tied back as she prepares provisions for their journey to the Harbor. Guoba sits nearby on the counter, occasionally puffing small flames to help with the cooking process, his round eyes watching attentively as she works.

"Xiangling," Zhongli calls as he enters. "Remember, the Young Master has requested we depart within the hour. Please ensure the travel meals are ready by then."

The cheerful chef turns, her face brightening while Guoba hums excitedly at the sight of the former Archon. "Just finishing up! I've prepared some Lotus Head Pastries and Mora Meat for the journey. Guoba's been helping me get the spice levels just right, haven't you, buddy?"

The small bear-like creature bounces happily, breathing a tiny puff of flame in response.

Unlike most servants, Xiangling has not been hired in the traditional sense. Xingqiu had found her in the aftermath of a Fatui attack on her father's restaurant. In exchange for her unparalleled culinary skills, Xingqiu had offered her protection and a new purpose. Guoba, her ever-faithful companion, had come as part of the arrangement.

"Excellent," Zhongli nods, offering a respectful bow to Guoba as well. "And where might I find Chongyun?"

"I think he's in the courtyard doing his morning exorcism rituals," Xiangling replies, returning to her cooking while Guoba resumes his assistance. "He mentioned something about a 'dark energy' he sensed near the eastern wall."

With a courteous nod, Zhongli makes his way to the courtyard, where the blue-haired exorcist stands with his eyes closed, talismans floating around him in a circle of Cryo energy.

"Chongyun," Zhongli calls gently, careful not to disrupt the young man's concentration.

The exorcist opens his eyes, the talismans daintily falling to the ground. "Mr. Zhongli. Is it time to depart?"

"Within the hour. The Young Master requires your abilities for this particular case."

Chongyun nods solemnly. As the last descendant of a renowned but dwindling line of exorcists, he had joined Xingqiu's household after the Young Watchdog had helped him control his excessive yang energy. "Missing children again?" Chongyun asks somberly.

"Indeed. The Young Master believes there may be supernatural elements involved this time."

Chongyun's expression hardens. "I'll gather my talismans and weapons then."

"Very good." Zhongli turns to leave but pauses. "But did you indeed sense something by the eastern wall?"

Chongyun's gaze shifts uncertainly. "Yes... though it was faint. Almost like... someone watching."

"I see." Zhongli's amber eyes flash momentarily. "I shall investigate it later. For now, we must focus on the task at hand."

As Zhongli returns to the manor, a small figure emerges from the shadows of the garden.

"Qiqi," Zhongli acknowledges. "I trust you've been tending to the herbs as requested?"

The zombie girl nods, her movements slightly stiff. "Herbs... gathered. Medicine... prepared."

Qiqi had been Xingqiu's most unusual acquisition— a zombie with extraordinary healing abilities who had wandered into their grounds one stormy night after a falling out with Baizhu, her previous master. Rather than turning her away, Xingqiu had recognized her potential and offered her sanctuary in exchange for her services as the manor's apothecary.

"Excellent. Please prepare travel remedies for potential ailments. We don't know what conditions we might encounter."

"Coconut milk... also packed," Qiqi adds with the faintest hint of pride.

"Very thoughtful," Zhongli replies with a gentle smile. "Please bring everything to the kitchen. I believe Xiangling should be nearly finished with the provisions."

Qiqi nods once more and shambles toward the kitchen, clutching a basket of herbs to her chest. Zhongli follows at a measured pace, his thoughts turning to the final preparations needed before their departure.

Upon reaching the kitchen, however, Zhongli pauses at the doorway. The atmosphere had shifted dramatically in the short time since he had left. Qiqi had already arrived and now stands on a stool beside the counter, a jug of coconut milk in her hands. Chongyun had apparently returned from the courtyard as well, and is now backing away from a steaming pot with evident alarm. Guoba sits on the counter amidst them all, swiveling his head back and forth like he was watching a heated match between three players.

"I told you," Chongyun says firmly, "I am not drinking that."

"It's coconut milk!" Xiangling protests, brandishing the ladle like a weapon while Guoba hums supportively. "Soothing, mellow, and mixed with just a pinch of Jueyun chili to balance your cold aura!"

"That's not balance," Chongyun mutters. "That's arson in a bottle!"

Qiqi, ever helpfully unbothered, tilts her head. "I tested it. The milk is spicy now." Guoba bounces excitedly at this, apparently approving of the spice level as well.

"See?!" Xiangling chirps triumphantly, gesturing to the zombie girl. "Even Qiqi thinks it's perfect!"

"I saw her in the garden earlier. She cried for ten minutes," Chongyun snaps.

"I wasn't crying," Qiqi clarifies with perfect deadpan. "My eyes were sweating."

Guoba tilts his head curiously at Qiqi, then puffs a small, gentle flame as if trying to dry her face.

Before Zhongli could intervene, Xingqiu enters the room from the opposite door. The Young Master takes one look at the chaos— Xiangling's determined stance with the ladle, Chongyun's defensive posture, Qiqi's impassive observation, Guoba's enthusiastic participation— and sighs.

"Remind me why they insist that I don't dine alone…?" he asks to no one in particular.

"You'd be bored," Xiangling replies, unapologetic. Guoba nods vigorously in agreement.

"But alive," Chongyun adds grimly.

Zhongli steps forward, clearing his throat. "Perhaps we might reserve culinary experimentation for when we aren't preparing for an urgent investigation?"

Xingqiu's gaze flickers to his butler, a hint of amusement dancing in his visible eye. "A sensible suggestion. Xiangling, finalize the travel provisions without attempting to cure Chongyun's condition. Chongyun, collect your exorcism tools. Qiqi, ensure the medical supplies are properly packed." His tone is light but carries unmistakable authority.

The three servants move to their tasks with varying degrees of enthusiasm, while Guoba hops down from the counter to follow Xiangling, humming encouragingly. Xingqiu turns to Zhongli, lowering his voice. "I need to change into appropriate attire for this investigation. Is everything else prepared?"

"Nearly, Young Master. The carriages will be ready momentarily. I've had your travel coat brushed and your documents arranged."

"Good," Xingqiu nods, turning to leave. "Assist me with the final preparations, then."

Zhongli follows his master through the corridors of the manor, past sliding paper doors adorned with traditional Liyue paintings— many depicting Rex Lapis in his various forms, a subtle irony that never fails to amuse the former Archon. They eventually reach Xingqiu's chambers.

Inside, laid across the bed, is Xingqiu's travel attire— a tailored midnight black ensemble that Zhongli had selected earlier that morning. The Young Master approaches it with a critical eye.

"I'm not wearing this," he declares, examining the fabric between his fingers.

"You said black," Zhongli replies evenly.

"I meant soul-devouring black, not funeral director black," Xingqiu corrects, a hint of irritation coloring his voice.

Zhongli doesn't pause. "Noted. You prefer menace over mourning."

"Exactly." Xingqiu moves toward the wardrobe himself, dismissing the original selection with a wave. "Finally, some understanding."

With practiced efficiency, Zhongli anticipates his master's preference and retrieves an alternative coat— still black, but with subtle blue threading that catches the light like water rippling in darkness. The shoulders are sharper, the lapels more severe, the overall silhouette designed to command respect rather than sympathy.

"Perhaps this would better suit the Young Master's intentions?" Zhongli suggests, a knowing gleam in his amber eyes.

Xingqiu's lips curve into a rare smile as he examines the revised selection. "Much better. A Watchdog should inspire fear, not pity." He begins changing into the approved attire, his movements efficient but unhurried. "Though I notice you anticipated my objection."

"I've learned to read your preferences," Zhongli replies, collecting the rejected garments. "Your tastes are... distinctive."

Once dressed in the midnight ensemble, Xingqiu reaches for his gloves— a newer pair stitched in Liyue silk and dyed with cloud ink. As he begins to pull them on, Zhongli steps forward with quiet authority.

"Allow me, Young Master," he says, gently taking the gloves from Xingqiu's hands.

It is an old ritual between them, never discussed, never delayed. Zhongli kneels gracefully, wordless, as he slips the first glove over Xingqiu's slender fingers, then begins threading the leather ties with deft precision. The air between them holds the tension of unsaid things and practiced deference.

"You tie them too tight," Xingqiu murmurs, not pulling away despite his complaint.

"I was told control is comforting," Zhongli replies, his fingers working methodically at the wrist fastenings.

Xingqiu's eyes narrow, a flicker of challenge dancing in the visible one. "And if I ordered you to lose control?"

Zhongli pauses at the wrist, his fingers resting just above the pulse point where Xingqiu's heartbeat betrays a quickening rhythm. "Then I'd show you how much I've been holding back."

A long moment passes. The morning breeze outside the window carries the distant sounds of Liyue Harbor awakening, but within the chamber, only their breathing marks the silence. Xingqiu tilts his head, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in amusement.

"Are you trying to restrain me, Morax?"

Zhongli's hands resume their work on the second glove, tighter this time, each movement deliberate. "Of course not, Young Master." Yet his touch lingers longer than necessary as he finishes the lacings, thumbs tracing the edge of the silk where it met skin. The proximity required for such delicate work brings him close enough that Xingqiu could feel the unnatural warmth radiating from his contracted servant.

"You're enjoying this," Xingqiu says flatly, though he makes no move to step away.

"I enjoy precision," Zhongli replies, smoothing the final adjustments to the gloves with unnecessary attention to detail.

"And proximity?" The question was posed with deceptive casualness, but Xingqiu's sharp gaze misses nothing of Zhongli's reaction.

Zhongli's tone remains perfectly neutral even as he rises to his full height, still standing closer than decorum would typically dictate. "A necessary inconvenience."

Xingqiu gives a knowing smirk, clearly unconvinced by the deflection. "Liar."

The accusation hovers between them, neither denial nor confirmation. Before Zhongli can respond, a faint knock at the outer doors of the manor echoes through the corridors— sharp, rhythmic, and demanding. Zhongli's head turns toward the sound, his expression shifting to professional alertness.

"Expecting someone, my Lord?" he asks, stepping back with his characteristic grace.

"No," Xingqiu replies, then reconsiders as he shakes his head. "Well. Not officially."

Zhongli adjusts his own appearance in preparation for their visitor. "I'll see who it is."

But before he can move, footsteps are already echoing in the corridor— measured gaits, equally light and predatory. Moments later, a tall and lithe woman pushes open the doors of Xingqiu’s chamber, elegantly wrapped in silken midnight blue clothing that shimmers like radiant moonlight on ink.

"Lady Yelan," Zhongli greets in his signature neutral tone, though a flash of familiarity flickers in his amber eyes.

"I do hate dropping in uninvited," she murmurs, not looking the least bit sorry. Her emerald gaze lands on Xingqiu with an expression between amusement and approval. "You've grown into the ring well, Young Watchdog."

"You're late," Xingqiu says dryly, his demeanor shifting seamlessly to that of the calculating heir of the Feiyun Commerce Guild. "I expected word from you days ago."

Yelan's smile curves sharply as she tosses several reports on the table and lounges on a nearby chair. "My sources require time to loosen their tongues especially when they're missing them. But the information I gathered was worth the delay though.” She counts languidly on her slender fingers. “Three disappearances, all children of artisans once contracted by the Feiyun Commerce Guild. That's not a coincidence. It's a message."

"Which means someone wants to get my attention," Xingqiu mutters, crossing to the map table beside the window. "Congratulations to them. They have it."

Zhongli moves to the tea service wordlessly, his movements refined and able. He places a steaming cup before Yelan with the same grace he'd shown tying Xingqiu's gloves. "You once served the boy's father. Your return is well timed."

Yelan's eyes soften, albeit slightly. "The previous Watchdog knew how to make use of… people like me. I'm glad to see his son learned just as quickly." She turns to Xingqiu once more. "I was loyal to your father. That doesn't die just because he did."

Xingqiu's jaw tightens for a moment. Then, almost imperceptibly, he nods. 

"Good. Because this time," he says quietly, "I intend to finish what he started."

Yelan raises her teacup but doesn't drink. "Then let's make a mess worth cleaning up." She sets the cup down, rises gracefully, and starts to leave. "I've left more detailed intelligence in these reports. The patterns, the locations, the timings, it's all here. But Young Watchdog?" She pauses at the door as she glances at him, placing a dainty hand on the threshold. "Be careful. Whoever's behind this knows exactly how to harm you. They're not just taking random children— they're taking the Guild's legacy, piece by piece."

"Oh, I would like to see them try," Xingqiu huffs in amusement, his voice carrying a challenging edge that makes him sound far older than his years.

Yelan's smile returns, pleased. "Attaboy. That's what I wanted to hear." She then turns towards Zhongli. "Keep him alive, won't you? I'd hate to have to find a new Watchdog to train."

"I assure you, Lady Yelan," Zhongli says with an encouraging grin, eyes glintling inscrutably. "You shall never need to look for another one. Young Master is perfectly safe with me."

Yelan doesn’t comment on that further and closes the doors behind her. After the unexpected guest’s departure, the chamber falls into purposeful silence. Xingqiu moves to the window, gazing out at the Harbor where ships glide like toy boats in the morning light.

"Shall we depart for the Harbor then, my Lord?" 

Xingqiu nods, his single visible eye reflecting resolve as hard as diamond. Xingqiu flexes his fingers within the perfectly fitted gloves, testing the tension of the lacings that bind them. "At once. Let us uncover these mysteries, as is the duty of the Qixing's Watchdog."

"Until the very end," Zhongli agrees with a perfect bow.

As they prepare to leave, neither notice the lone figure watching the manor from the distant hillside.

"So, the former Archon plays butler to a mortal child," the tall woman with a fox-like smile murmurs to herself. "How fascinating. Ei will certainly want to hear about this."

The morning breeze carries whispers of cherry blossoms as Yae Miko stands beneath a secluded pavilion in the Bubu Pharmacy's garden. She had arrived in Liyue three days prior under the pretense of negotiating publishing contracts with Yae Publishing House's Liyue outpost, but her true purpose had been far more intriguing: investigating the strange elemental disturbances that had been detected as far away as Narukami Island for quite some time already.

The disturbances had begun shortly after Rex Lapis's supposed death, ripples of ancient power that shouldn't have existed if the Geo Archon had truly perished. When her network of informants reported sightings of a man bearing an uncanny resemblance to Rex Lapis serving as a butler to the Young Head of the Feiyun Commerce Guild, Miko knew she had to see for herself.

What she had witnessed over the past few days— observing the manor from the shadows, listening through her familiar network of foxes— had confirmed her suspicions and raised far more troubling questions.

Her fox ears twitch slightly as she senses a presence materialize behind her, the familiar crackle of Electro energy announcing her divine master's arrival.

"Your reports are becoming increasingly concerning, Miko," comes the voice of the Electro Archon— not in her full presence, but as a projection of crackling violet energy. "Morax bound to a human through contract? Playing servant to a mortal noble? It defies all I know of him."

Miko turns, her smile cryptic as always. "Defies what you knew of him, Ei. The Archons are changing, as are their relationships with mortality." She gestures toward the direction of the Feiyun Manor, invisible from their current location but still within her enhanced senses. "I've spent three days watching their interactions. This isn't mere servitude, it's something far more complex."

"Explain," the Archon commands.

Miko traces a pattern in the air, conjuring an image she had observed that very morning— Zhongli standing attentively behind Xingqiu as the Young Master reviewed correspondence. "There's more to this arrangement than meets the eye. Morax— or ‘Zhongli’ as he calls himself now— has found a rather elegant solution to several problems."

The projection of Ei narrows her eyes. "Continue."

"First," Miko counts on her slender fingers, "he needed to disappear as Rex Lapis while maintaining influence in Liyue. Second, he required a way to monitor threats without the constraints of his former position. And third," her eyes glint with amusement, "he needed to protect certain ancient secrets that even the Qixing knew nothing about."

"And how did you come to observe so much in mere days?" Ei asks, her tone skeptical.

Miko's smile widens. "The boy— Xingqiu— has been making inquiries through quite unconventional channels. Requests for rare texts, ancient maps, spiritual consultations. My contacts in Liyue's underground information network brought these to my attention ages ago, but it wasn't until I saw the pattern that I realized what it meant." She pauses, her expression growing more serious. "Someone with access to Archon-level knowledge was guiding those research requests."

"And the boy? This... Xingqiu? What does he gain besides an immortal servant?"

Miko chuckles, recalling the scene she had witnessed of Xingqiu commanding his household with resolute authority while Zhongli looks on with obvious satisfaction. "Power, knowledge, vengeance for his family's disgrace. The usual human desires. But he's clever enough to be useful rather than merely demanding. As a matter of fact, I watched him solve a smuggling case in two days that had stumped the Millelith for weeks."

Ei's projection circles the garden thoughtfully. "You believe this is more than it appears."

"I know it is," Miko replies confidently. "The contract between them— I managed to sense its resonance when they were within range yesterday. It bears traces similar to those we've found in the ruins beneath Inazuma."

At this, the Electro Archon's energy pulses with concern. "The Ancient Civilization?"

"Precisely," Yae confirms. "The spiritual disturbances that brought me here in the first place? They're centered on Mt. Tianheng, and they began the same week Morax entered that boy's service. Whatever Morax sealed away beneath the mountain is connected to what lies beneath the Tenshukaku. And now the Fatui are sniffing around both."

"This changes matters," Ei states, her projection solidifying. "The Fatui's interest in Gnoses was concerning enough, but if they're seeking the remnants of that civilization..."

"Hence my journey here," Miko says with a slight bow. "I needed to confirm whether the disturbances were connected to Morax's apparent death or something else entirely. What I found suggests both." She gestures toward the Harbor bustling in the distance. "I believe Morax's contract with the human is part of a longer game. By binding himself to a mortal with connections throughout Teyvat, he gains something you Archons have long lacked— the ability to move freely within human affairs without the constraints of divine responsibility."

"A clever strategy," Ei acknowledges, "but a dangerous one at that."

"All the best strategies are," Miko responds with a fox-like grin. "And there's more. The boy's soul— what Morax claims as payment— I've sensed something unusual about it during my observations. A resonance with multiple elements, something that should be impossible."

The Electro Archon's projection freezes. "You believe Morax is cultivating him as a vessel?"

"Or a weapon," Miko suggests. "To take on what was sealed away after the cataclysm. The timing is most suspicious indeed— Morax relinquishing his Gnosis, then immediately binding himself to a human with unusual spiritual potential just as ancient energies begin stirring."

"Monitor them closely," Ei orders. "If what you suspect is true, the other Archons must be informed. Especially since—"

"Since Natlan's Archon has also been behaving strangely?" Miko finishes the thought for her. "Indeed. The pieces are moving, Ei. A game centuries in the making is nearly entering its final phase."

The projection of the Electro Archon begins to fade. "Keep watching, Miko. And be careful. If Morax has chosen this path, he definitely has reasons he hasn't shared even with his oldest allies."

As Ei's presence disappears entirely, Miko gazes up at the azure sky, her expression thoughtful. Her investigation had yielded far more than she had anticipated when she first set out from Inazuma following those strange spiritual readings.

"Oh, Morax," she murmurs to herself. "What ancient promise are you fulfilling with this beautiful, doomed boy? And will any of us survive when it's complete?"

With a shimmer of fox-fire, she transforms into her kitsune form and disappears into the ether.

The lead carriage— sumptuous and well-appointed— holds Xingqiu within, seated in lush silence beneath a velvet canopy. His attention flicks over a stack of documents resting on his lap, the morning sunlight glinting off the edge of his reading glasses. For the sake of comfort during his lengthy reading, he has set aside his usual eyepatch, revealing both eyes in the filtered light of the carriage interior. His left eye maintains its familiar golden hue, warm as summer wheat, while his right bears the amber mark of deeper mysteries— a shade darker and more intense, like honey held against candlelight, the visible seal of his contract with the Geo Archon employed as his butler.

Across from him sits Zhongli, his posture impeccable, gloved hands folded loosely atop his knee. A hired coachman guides the horses outside, unseen and silent.

Behind them is a smaller, more utilitarian cart carrying equipment, supplies… and a different sort of chaos.

"Can't we all sit?" Xiangling asks, already halfway up the side of the second carriage, with Guoba tucked securely under her arm.

"But there’s only one cushion," Chongyun replies, voice flat and tense.

"I don't need to sit," Qiqi murmurs as she clambers up behind them with surprising agility for someone who moves like a drifting snowflake.

"You'll bounce off if we hit a rock," Xiangling warns, squeezing onto the seat beside Chongyun with unearned optimism while settling Guoba on her lap.

Chongyun finally nestles on the seat, stiff-backed and visibly bracing himself. Qiqi, without a word, lowers herself directly into his lap and settles like a bundled scroll no one had the heart to move. Guoba, perched on Xiangling's knees, tilts his head curiously at the arrangement.

"This is fine," she says.

"You are very... cold," Chongyun comments with clear discomfort.

"And you are very pointy," Qiqi replies, utterly unmoved.

Guoba hums softly, as if offering his commentary on the seating situation, then snuggles closer to Xiangling's warmth.

From within the lead carriage, Zhongli's voice floats clearly through the curtained window. "I do believe this counts as spiritual training, Chongyun."

Xingqiu, eyes still on his notes, barely raises an eyebrow. "I'll wager five thousand Mora if she bites him."

The carriages then set off from the Feiyun Manor to Liyue Harbor. But just moments later, the wheels hit a patch of uneven ground, causing both carriages to jostle. Inside the lead, papers slid from Xingqiu's lap.

"My apologies, Young Master," the coachman calls from outside. "The spring rains have damaged this section of road."

"Duly noted," Xingqiu mutters, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face as he gathers the scattered documents.

The mood shifts after that. The rhythm of hooves fills the quiet between them, steady and metronomic. Xingqiu removes his reading glasses with a soft sigh, folding them carefully before resting his head against the cushion, eyes falling closed for what he thought would be only a moment.

When he blinks them open again, Zhongli is watching him.

Not directly though— Zhongli never stares. It is something quieter, calmer, akin to the weight of a gaze that had waited centuries to be acknowledged. His amber eyes take in the mismatched hues of Xingqiu's own— one gold, one amber, both beautiful in their asymmetry.

"Do all old gods loiter with such intensity," Xingqiu mutters, rubbing at his eyes, "or is it just you?"

Zhongli's voice is mild. "I was counting the ways your breath hitched. You dream of blood, don't you?"

The air cools. Somewhere behind them, a bird called and went unanswered.

"Stay out of my dreams, Morax," Xingqiu warns. His voice doesn't rise, but something in it sharpens.

"Oh I don't enter," Zhongli replies, shifting slightly forward. "Rather, your nightmares leave the door open for me."

As the words settle between them, something stirs in the space where mortal meets divine. Xingqiu's right eye— the amber one marked by their contract— begins to glow with a subtle inner light, like embers catching breath. In response, the Geo sigil etched into the back of Zhongli's left hand pulses beneath his glove, a warm golden radiance that seeps through the fabric. The resonance between them hums in the air, a reminder of bonds that run deeper than flesh and blood.

Zhongli reaches out with delicate care, adjusting the edge of Xingqiu's collar where it has gone slightly askew. The gesture is practiced— just shy of intimate. His gloved fingers smooth the fabric with a reverence more suited to ritual than grooming, the mark on his hand still glowing faintly as he works.

Xingqiu doesn't move. He lets the silence return, heavier now, not quite companionable. The ethereal glow fades from both their marks, leaving only the memory of warmth.

The hoofbeats carry them forward, until suddenly the rhythm changes. The wheels slow, then stop entirely.

"What's the matter?" Xingqiu calls to the coachman, already reaching for his eyepatch.

"Trouble ahead, Young Master," comes the nervous reply. "The bridge is blocked."

Xingqiu exchanges a glance with Zhongli, who is already rising from his seat with fluid grace. With smooth efficiency, Zhongli reaches over and takes the eyepatch from Xingqiu's fingers, his movements careful and reverent as he positions it over the amber eye. His fingertips barely graze the younger man's skin as he secures the patch in place, a gesture both protective and possessive.

They exit the carriage to find their coachman gripping his reins tightly, while a group of rough-looking men stand brazenly across the narrow bridge spanning the ravine ahead.

"Well, well," calls their apparent leader, a burly man with a scar running down his cheek. "If it ain't the fancy Young Master from Feiyun Commerce Guild. Bit far from home, aren't ya, boy?"

Xingqiu's expression remains impassive as he steps forward, one hand resting casually near his sword hilt. "You're blocking a public road, nitwits. Step aside."

The leader guffaws. "Public road with a private toll. Pay up, and maaaybe we'll let you pass without too much trouble."

Zhongli moves with practiced ease, positioning himself slightly ahead of his master. "Gentlemen, I'm afraid we have urgent business in the Harbor and cannot be delayed. I would advise you to reconsider your position."

The bandits— seven in total— fan out, weapons drawn. Behind them, Xingqiu could hear the distant rumble of their supply cart still making its way up the winding road.

"Look at this one," the leader sneers. "Fancy butler thinks he can take us all on?"

Xingqiu sighs, a sound that carries equal parts weariness and resignation. "Zhongli."

"Yes, Young Master?"

"Remove these pesky obstacles at once. Try not to damage the bridge in the process though, we'll need it to cross.” Xingqiu raises an eyebrow. “You can manage that, right?”

The former Geo Archon's eyes glow briefly with an inhuman light. "Of course, my Lord. A Feiyun Commerce Guild butler who can't do that much isn't worth his salt."

What follows is less a battle than a demonstration. Zhongli moves with impossible grace and precision, disarming the first bandit with a simple twist of his wrist. The second and third rush to him simultaneously, only to find themselves sprawling in the dirt, their weapons shattered against swiftly-formed Geo constructs.

The leader, realizing the error of his ways, attempts to retreat, but finds his path blocked by a small stone barrier that had mysteriously appeared behind him.

"What the—" he manages to blurt out before Zhongli is upon him.

In less than a minute, all seven bandits lay unconscious on the ground, groaning, while Zhongli stands without a hair out of place, straightening his gloves with methodical finesse.

"Shall I dispose of them permanently, Young Master?" he inquires as he smiles politely.

Xingqiu considers the men, then shakes his head. "No. They're simple idiots, not worth the effort. Bind them and leave them for the Millelith patrols."

As Zhongli efficiently secures the unconscious bandits with conjured stone restraints, the rumble of wheels grows louder. Their supply cart finally crests the hill, with Chongyun, Xiangling, and Qiqi visible behind their hired coachman.

"Aiya!" Xiangling calls out as their cart comes to a stop. "What happened here? We heard shouting!"

She hops down from the cart with characteristic enthusiasm, Guoba tumbling after her, while Chongyun and Qiqi follow more sedately.

"Just a minor delay," Xingqiu replies, brushing dust from his sleeves. "Nothing that couldn't be handled."

Chongyun surveys the scene with knowing eyes. "I see we missed all the excitement."

"Indeed," Zhongli says, offering a slight bow to the newcomers. "Young Master was most decisive in resolving the matter."

Qiqi tilts her head, studying the bound bandits with mild curiosity. “Qiqi thinks… they look sleepy.”

“Very sleepy,” Xingqiu replies, voice laced with dry amusement.

As one of the bandits groans softly, Qiqi moves toward him with a healer’s instinct. Her expression shifts to concern, gentle little fingers hovering near his wound. “Injured,” she states simply. “Should heal?”

“They don’t deserve your medicine, Qiqi,” Xingqiu answers, voice softening. “Save it for those who need it more.”

She nods solemnly and shuffles back toward the supply cart where Chongyun waits. As she climbs up, his eyes linger— not on her, but on the entire tableau before him: the motionless bodies sprawled on the bridge, the undisturbed stonework, and most of all, Zhongli’s still form inspecting a broken railing with clinical detachment, his composure unmarred by battle.

“Xiangling,” Chongyun calls out, his voice quieter now, “help Qiqi secure the kits. I’d like to speak with the Young Master.”

Xiangling, still brimming with excitement, nods and immediately launches into an animated retelling of the supposed fight, Guoba chiming in with dramatic gestures. Qiqi blinks once and nods along, content with the distraction.

Chongyun approaches Xingqiu with measured steps. “Young Master,” he begins gently, “can we talk privately?”

Xingqiu glances over, sensing the change in the exorcist’s tone, and inclines his head. “Of course.”

They step a few paces away, out of earshot but still within view of the bridge. Chongyun lowers his voice.

“I’ve been sensing an unusual energy for quite some time now,” he says carefully.

“What sort of ‘unusual energy’?” Xingqiu’s attention sharpens.

“Ancient. Deep. Not hostile, but… overwhelming.” Chongyun’s brows furrow. “It’s like standing on the edge of an ocean, staring at it, and knowing it sees you back.”

Xingqiu follows the direction of his friend’s gaze— toward Zhongli, who now stands with his hands clasped neatly behind his back, waiting.

“You’ve always had a sharp instinct for such things,” Xingqiu remarks after a beat. “And you’re not wrong. I’ve undergone... changes.”

Chongyun’s eyes narrow. “Changes, huh?”

“Let’s just say I’ve made certain commitments. And those commitments are refining me in ways I expected— and some I did not.”

Chongyun hesitates, clearly choosing his words. “And— and you’re comfortable with that?”

“No,” Xingqiu admits with a wry smile. “But comfort was never the goal.”

“You’re gambling with yourself,” Chongyun insists, voice nearly a whisper.

“I’m wagering what I must to ensure justice,” Xingqiu replies, voice calm, but there is weight beneath the words. “Some prices are better paid in due course than withheld.”

The conversation might have carried on, but soft footsteps announce Zhongli’s arrival.

“The bridge is secure, Young Master,” he announces with a slight bow. “We may proceed safely.”

“Excellent.” Xingqiu turns, slipping effortlessly back into composure. “Let’s not keep the Harbor waiting.”

They return to the carriages. Xiangling is still enthusiastically recounting the clash to Qiqi, who nods in rhythm while Guoba provides exaggerated sound effects. The coachmen are already in position, reins in hand, professional and silent.

Just before boarding, Chongyun reaches out, briefly catching Xingqiu’s arm.

“Mr. Zhongli restrained himself during the fight,” he murmurs.

“Of course he did,” Xingqiu replies lightly. “I specifically instructed him not to damage the bridge.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Chongyun’s voice bears unease wrapped in concern. “What we saw was... maybe just a fraction of what he’s really capable of. The restraint— it wasn’t casual. It was deliberate. Measured. Like someone pacing their immense hunger but enjoying it at the same time.”

Xingqiu’s expression softens, though his eyes don't. “Your concern honors me. But some paths don’t allow for hesitation. Only the determination to stride onwards.”

With that, the Young Watchdog shrugs off his arm from the exorcist’s grasp and they finally part. Chongyun returns to the second carriage. Xingqiu steps into the first, settling across from Zhongli, who waits with gloved hands neatly folded.

“Ready when you are, Young Master,” the lead coachman calls.

“Proceed,” Xingqiu says, and the carriage lurches gently into motion.

Hoofbeats echo against the stone bridge as the procession resumes. Behind them, the unconscious bandits would eventually be found by the Millelith patrols. Ahead, the Harbor rises in the distance, veiled in mist and motion.

Inside the lead carriage, a silence settles— not awkward, but dense with implication. Xingqiu looks out the window, eyes distant. Zhongli studies him without a word.

Neither talks. But the quiet speaks volumes.

As they approach Liyue Harbor, the bustle of the port city comes into view— ships from distant lands docked at the wharves, merchants hawking their wares, and the imposing silhouette of the Jade Chamber floating above it all.

"We'll proceed directly to the scene of the most recent disappearance," Xingqiu instructs as they enter the city gates. "Zhongli, you and I will investigate while Chongyun searches for spiritual traces. Xiangling and Qiqi will gather information from the locals."

"Very good, Young Master," Zhongli replies.

The carriage comes to a stop in a quieter district near the Harbor's edge, where the morning's commercial bustle gives way to residential calm. As they disembark, neither master nor servant notice the figure observing their arrival from the dark shadows of a narrow alleyway between two weathered buildings.

He is tall and lean, with distinctive pale teal hair and a mask that covers the top half of his face, leaving only a sharp smile visible. His coat bears the unmistakable insignia of the Fatui, though he takes no pains in hiding it— after all, a Harbinger has little or even no reason at all to skulk like a common spy.

"How delightfully predictable," he murmurs to himself, his voice carrying that particular blend of amusement and condescension that makes his subordinates shiver. "The little Watchdog comes running at the first tug of his leash. And with such... interesting company."

His unseen eyes gleam with curiosity as it settles on Zhongli's familiar form. "An Archon reduced to playing servant to a mortal child. What fascinating psychological dynamics must be at play. The experimental possibilities alone..."

He watches as Xingqiu and Zhongli disappear into the crowd, then steps back deeper into the shadows, his mind already racing with countless conjectures and assumptions.

"This groundwork may prove far more entertaining than anticipated," he muses to himself, his smile widening. "After all, what is research without a little… complication?"

The alleyway falls silent once more, save for the distant sounds of Harbor life, leaving no trace of the Harbinger's presence except for the faint scent of antiseptic that seems to linger wherever he treads.

The eastern district of Liyue Harbor stands in stark contrast to the opulence of the merchant quarter. Here, the buildings huddle close together, creating narrow alleyways where sunlight rarely penetrates. The silk workshops that had once brought prosperity to this area now operate at reduced capacity, their owners struggling against cheaper imports and changing fashions.

Xingqiu and Zhongli stand before a modest dwelling with its door sealed by Millelith notices. This was the home of the third missing child— a ten-year-old girl named Guanyu whose father owned a small silk-dyeing workshop. The Young Watchdog and his butler have already obtained the parents’ permission to investigate their lodging.

"The reports indicate she disappeared three nights ago," Xingqiu states, breaking the seal and pushing the door open. "Parents claim she was in bed when they retired for the evening. By morning, she was gone."

Inside, the home is simple but well-kept. A family altar stands in one corner, incense sticks burnt down to stubs before it. Offerings of fruit and small cakes had been left untouched, now stale from days of exposure.

Zhongli moves with silent efficiency, examining the child's sleeping area— a small alcove separated from the main room by a threadbare curtain.

"No signs of forced entry," he observes. "The window is small and too narrow for an adult to pass through."

Xingqiu nods, running his fingers along the windowsill. "No damage to the latch either. If someone came in this way, the child must have opened it willingly."

"Or they never used the window at all." Zhongli kneels, examining the packed earth floor. "Young Master, observe."

Xingqiu joins him, eyes narrowing at what he sees— a faint pattern of crystalline residue, almost invisible against the earth.

"Geo residue," Xingqiu murmurs.

"Indeed." Zhongli collects a sample between his gloved fingers. "But not natural. This has been... processed somehow."

Outside, they hear Chongyun's voice calling for them. They emerge to find the exorcist standing in the narrow alley, talismans floating around him.

"I found something," he announces. "A trail, but it's faint. Whatever took the child left traces of spiritual energy."

"Lead on," Xingqiu commands.

Chongyun guides them through increasingly narrow passages, his talismans glowing brighter as they descend deeper into the poorest section of the district. Eventually, they reach a dead-end alley where the spiritual trail disappeared into a solid wall.

"It ends here," Chongyun says, perplexed. "But there's no entrance."

Zhongli steps forward, placing his palm against the stone wall. "Young Master, with your permission?"

Xingqiu nods once.

Zhongli's eyes glow momentarily as he exerts his Geo power, not enough to reveal his true nature but sufficient enough to sense the structure of the stone. "There's a passage beyond this wall. Recently created, I would say."

"Can you open it without bringing down the surrounding buildings?" Xingqiu asks.

"Of course, my Lord."

With precise movements, Zhongli manipulates the stone, creating a doorway where none had existed before. The stone reconfigures rather than breaks, as if the wall had always contained an archway that had simply been hidden.

Beyond lay a tunnel, damp and musty, descending into darkness.

"Chongyun, return to the main street and inform Xiangling and Qiqi of our discovery," Xingqiu orders. "Have them prepare for possible injuries or illnesses. We don't know what condition the children might be in if we find them."

The exorcist hesitates. "Young Master, it would be safer if I joined you."

"Your talents will also be more useful ensuring no one follows us. This passage may not be the only one out there. Search for similar spiritual traces throughout the district after informing the others."

Recognizing the order for what it is, Chongyun bows and departs.

Xingqiu turns to Zhongli. "Shall we proceed?"

"Ready when you are, Young Master."

The tunnel descends steeply, the air growing colder as they venture deeper. Zhongli conjures a small Geo construct that emits a soft amber light, illuminating their path. The narrow walls seem to press closer with each step, forcing them to walk shoulder to shoulder.

"Are you always this calm when walking into hell?" Xingqiu asks, brushing cobwebs from his shoulder. His voice carries a hint of admiration beneath the jest.

Zhongli's amber eyes catch the light of his construct as he glances sideways. "Only when I'm escorting someone far worse than any monster we might encounter."

"Careful, old man," Xingqiu murmurs, his voice dropping to something fonder within the confined space. "That sounds dangerously close to a compliment."

"On the contrary." Zhongli's reply is equally placid, meant only for Xingqiu's ears. "It was a warning, my dear Lord. Though I confess..." He pauses, studying Xingqiu's profile in the amber glow. "There's something rather appealing about your particular brand of wickedness."

The corner of Xingqiu’s mouth twitches slightly. "And here I thought you disapproved of my methods."

"Disapproval and fascination are not mutually exclusive," Zhongli counters. "You wield chaos with the precision of a master swordsman. It's... captivating."

The warmth between them seems to balm the cool tunnel air. Xingqiu finds himself leaning closer, drawn by the unexpected admiration in Zhongli's tone. "You know, for someone who claims to value order and contracts above all else—"

"Shh." Zhongli's hand suddenly presses against Xingqiu's mouth, stopping him mid-sentence. The warm moment dissipates altogether as Zhongli's expression hardens with focus. "Do you hear that?"

Xingqiu strains his ears, and beneath their hushed breathing, he catches it— a rhythmic scraping, like stone against stone, echoing from ahead. The sound is too recurring to be natural, too purposeful to be incidental.

They exchange a look that needs no further words. Whatever playful tension had sparked between them transforms instantly into sharp awareness of predators approaching prey. Moving as one, they advance toward the source of the sound, Zhongli dimming his light to barely a wisp of illumination.

The narrow passage opens into a larger cavern, and what they discover causes even Xingqiu— master of maintaining composure in the face of horror— to pause in shock.

The cavern had been transformed into a workshop of sorts. Large vats of liquid bubble with an unnatural glow, casting eerie golden light across stone walls. Children— including the recently missing ones, according to the Kamera snapshots provided by Yelan’s and the Millelith’s reports— work silently at various stations, their movements mechanical and their eyes vacant as empty windows. They appear to be processing some kind of crystal, grinding it into fine powder that was then mixed with the glowing liquid.

The scraping sound they'd heard earlier was the endless, mindless rhythm of small hands toiling stone against stone, hour after hour, day after day.

"They're under some form of control," Xingqiu whispers. "Look at their eyes."

Indeed, each child's eyes glow with the same amber light as the liquid in the vats.

Overseeing the entire operation is a tall figure in Fatui garb— not a standard uniform, but the elaborate attire of a Harbinger. His teal hair catches the eerie light, and the mask covering half his face does little in hiding his fascination as he observes the children's work.

"Dottore," Zhongli identifies quietly. "The Second of the Fatui Harbingers."

"What would a Harbinger want with children and silk workers?" Xingqiu wonders.

His question is answered as Dottore approaches one of the vats, dipping a silk cloth into the glowing mixture with the careful precision of an experimenter. The fabric absorbs the liquid and begins to shimmer with Geo energy. He makes a quick note of it on a sheet of paper, muttering observations to himself.

"They're creating enhanced silk," Xingqiu realizes. "Infused with Geo power."

"Not just any Geo power." Zhongli's voice has grown uncharacteristically cold. "Those crystals... they're fragments of Archaic Petra, crystallized remains of ancient gods. And when infused with the essence of dead gods, the silk acts as a veil-thinner— anchoring Teyvat just long enough to tear it open."

Before they could retreat to form a plan, a voice calls out from behind them, tinged with barely contained excitement.

"My, my, how fascinating! The specimens have delivered themselves directly to the laboratory." Dottore stands at the entrance of their observation point, his expression brimming with curiosity. "And what exquisite specimens they are, I dare say— a former Archon bound in servitude, and the heir to an opulent merchant dynasty. The unusual dynamics alone warrant immediate study."

Zhongli steps protectively in front of Xingqiu. "Doctor. I’m afraid this operation violates multiple terms of diplomatic relations between Snezhnaya and Liyue."

"Morax," Dottore acknowledges with a tone of delighted discovery. "Or should I say... Zhongli? How utterly unremarkable— from Archon to butler. The reasoning and thought process of the gods are most strange indeed… but the Tsaritsa will be most amused with my findings."

Xingqiu draws his sword, the Hydro-infused blade glowing with azure light. "Enough with your pathetically puerile yammering. Release the children and surrender yourself to the judgment of the Qixing at once."

Dottore laughs, but it's not mocking— it's the chuckle of a researcher who has discovered something unexpectedly entertaining during his work. "Such delicious conviction! But tell me, young man, can you even comprehend what we're creating here? Fabric that can channel the power of gods— a breakthrough in the synthesis of divine essence using mortal materials, no less!"

"At the cost of innocent lives," Xingqiu challenges.

"The children remain physiologically intact," Dottore replies with detachment, akin to a scientist discussing lab rats. "Their consciousness has merely been... repurposed for more efficient task completion. The neural pathways show fascinating adaptation patterns, if I do say so myself."

Xingqiu's grip tightens on his sword. "Zhongli, this is an order: capture Dottore and free these children."

"Yes, my lord." The contract seal on Xingqiu's right eye flares with amber light beneath his eyepatch as Zhongli's left hand pulses with answering golden radiance through his glove— the ancient bond between them awakening in response to the command.

Dottore grins with genuine excitement as he senses the shift in Zhongli's demeanor. "Extraordinary! You truly have bound him with some form of ancient pact, Young Watchdog. The resonance patterns, the synchronized luminescence— these are unprecedented details!" His expression then shifts to that of calculating interest. "But even a former Archon has his limitations."

With a gesture, he activates some kind of device that sends a resonating pulse throughout the cavern. "Test subjects, defensive protocol. Protect the laboratory equipment at all costs."

To Xingqiu's horror, the children turn at the same time, their eyes glowing menacingly as they approach with tools clutched in their small hands.

"Young Master," Zhongli says calmly, "what are your orders regarding the children?"

Xingqiu thinks quickly. "Subdue without harm. They're victims, not enemies."

"Very good."

What follows is a display of precision that only a being of Zhongli's age and power could achieve. He moves among the children like a shadow, touching pressure points and gently redirecting their attacks. One by one, they collapse into unconsciousness without sustaining any injuries.

Meanwhile, Xingqiu pursues Dottore, who has retreated deeper into the cavern. His Hydro blade clashes against vials of experimental chemicals that Dottore hurls with calculated precision, creating explosive reactions that fill the air with acrid smoke.

"Remarkable reflexes for a mere boy," Dottore notes with commendation as the Young Watchdog deflects yet another strike. "Though I strongly suspect that your emotional responses are highly vulnerable. My long years of research suggest you'll react strongly to... personal trauma stimuli."

Xingqiu tightens his grip on the sword. "What nonsense are you talking about?"

Dottore's smile is that of a scholar who has found the perfect experimental trigger. "Your family's unfortunate demise, of course. Such a useful case study in loss-motivated behavioral modification. Who better to arrange such a perfect psychological catalyst than one who understands the science of suffering?"

Rage fills Xingqiu's vision. "Morax!" he calls.

In an instant, the butler is at his side, calm despite the chaos around them. "Yes, Young Master?"

"New order." Xingqiu's voice is cold with fury. "Make sure to capture Dottore alive. He has information about my family's murder."

"As you wish."

The change in Zhongli is subtle but profound— a slight straightening of his posture, a deepening of the amber glow in his eyes. When he moves again, it is with speed that even Dottore struggles to keep up with.

"How tragic!" Dottore exclaims, pulling out more experimental devices. "You may have been the wrathful God of Contracts, but now you’ve just become a servant who answers to this boy’s commands in a sickeningly pleasant voice!"

Zhongli doesn't respond to the Doctor’s drivel. Instead, he methodically dismantles Dottore's defenses, shattering experimental equipment with precise strikes while avoiding damage to the surrounding cavern that might endanger the unconscious children.

Finally realizing his combat preparations are insufficient, Dottore changes tactics. He lunges toward one of the vats of glowing liquid, upending it toward Xingqiu. "Well, let's test the Young Master’s responses when exposed to concentrated divine essence then!"

Zhongli moves faster than a blink of an eye, placing himself between Xingqiu and the dangerous substance. The liquid splashes across his form, soaking through his butler's attire. For a moment, his entire body glows with the same amber light as the liquid.

Dottore uses the distraction to make his escape, activating a smoke screen device as he flees through a hidden passage, his laughter echoing against the damp cavern walls with sheer excitement.

"Morax!" Xingqiu approaches his butler with concern, eyes scanning for any sign of injury. "Are you hurt?"

The former Archon straightens, the glow already fading from his form. "Merely soiled, Young Master. This substance cannot harm one of my nature." He brushes off the remnants of debris with practiced ease, though his amber eyes remain watchful.

Xingqiu's relief is palpable, but it quickly gives way to exasperation. "You really must stop throwing yourself in harm's way like that," he mutters, crossing his arms. "It's embarrassing how predictable you've become."

"Then stop commanding me to protect you," Zhongli replies, a hint of amusement seeping through his usual formal tone.

"But I never do." Xingqiu's rebuttal comes with a knowing smile.

"Exactly." That word alone carries years of understanding between them.

A pause settles in the aftermath, comfortable despite the chaos they've just weathered. Xingqiu studies his companion's face, noting the way Zhongli's attention never truly leaves him, even now.

"Then if I ordered you to stop protecting me, would you obey?" The question comes softer than expected.

"Of course," Zhongli answers without hesitation, though there is a dark glint in his eyes. "But I do hope you'll punish me for it later, my Lord."

Xingqiu tuts in disdain. "You're not used to taking orders anymore, are you?" he asks, his voice carrying a different weight now.

"Not unless they're etched in blood and sealed with intent, I'm afraid," Zhongli admits, stepping closer. The formality in his posture relaxes, revealing something more laid back underneath.

Xingqiu gives a soft laugh, the sound breathless. "You must find me refreshing, then."

Zhongli's voice drops to barely above a whisper, amber eyes fixed on Xingqiu's face. "Addictive."

The word hovers between them like a confession and a promise. But reality intrudes as Zhongli's gaze shifts toward the passage where Dottore had vanished, duty warring with intrigue in his expression. "Shall I pursue him, Young Master?"

Xingqiu follows his line of sight, the moment of warmth crystallizing into something harder, more focused. He considers it, then shakes his head. "No. The children take priority." His voice grows colder as the implications settle. "Besides, he revealed enough. The Fatui were behind my family's murder."

"So it would seem." Zhongli begins gathering the unconscious children with gentle care, though his eyes never stray far from Xingqiu's face. "Though I would caution against accepting his words without verification. Deception through misdirection is a tool the Harbingers wield as skillfully as any weapon— particularly one who views truth as merely another variable to manipulate."

The sound counsel bestowed by a god does nothing to quell the storm building in Xingqiu's chest. His hands quiver— not with fear or exhaustion, but with something far more dangerous.

"You're trembling," Zhongli observes quietly, pausing in his ministrations.

"I believe it's called 'rage', Morax," comes Xingqiu’s soft reply, his voice steady despite the fury coursing through his veins.

Zhongli straightens slowly, eyes studying every line of tension in Xingqiu's frame. There's something almost reverent in the way he approaches, as if witnessing the birth of something terrible and beautiful. "Would you like me to carry it for you, then?"

"No." The refusal comes swift and certain. Xingqiu's gaze meets Zhongli's, and there's something ominous in his expression that makes Zhongli catch his breath. "But I wouldn't mind watching you burn for it."

For a heartbeat, the world narrows to just the two of them. Zhongli's lips part slightly, and when he speaks, his voice carries the weight of mountains and the heat of molten stone. "Then set the match, Young Master." His words are an offering, a surrender, a plea. "I am ever yours to ignite."

The moment stretches between them like a taut wire, heavy with promise and deep devotion. But the soft whimper of one of the unconscious children breaks the spell, drawing Xingqiu's attention back to their immediate surroundings. The cold rage remains, but it settles into something more focused, more purposeful as he surveys the workshop.

"We'll find the truth," he says, his voice carrying quiet determination. "For now, let's get these children to safety."

As they begin the delicate process of evacuating the children from the underground workshop, Xingqiu finds himself drawn to one of the vats of glowing liquid. The eerie light casts shadows across his face, highlighting the stark line of his eyepatch as he studies the viscous substance.

"You called this the essence of dead gods," he states softly, not looking away from the unsettling glow. "Is that truly what it is?"

Zhongli's expression grows solemn as he adjusts his hold on two children. "In the long history of Teyvat, many minor deities have fallen. Their power, crystallized over millennia, can be harvested and processed. It appears that the Doctor has found a way to make it compatible with mortal craftsmanship."

"By also using children as laborers, since their smaller bodies are less affected by the energy?" Xingqiu's voice is smothered with disgust.

"Precisely." Zhongli lifts two more children effortlessly. "The Fatui's methods are efficient, yet direly  reprehensible."

Xingqiu's gaze lingers on the workshop, etching every detail of this place of horrors to his memory. "When we've evacuated everyone, destroy this place. Completely."

Zhongli bows slightly, careful not to disturb the children in his arms. "As you wish, Young Master."

The journey to the surface is slow and careful, their precious cargo requiring gentle handling. When they finally emerge into the cool night air, the other servants are waiting— Chongyun pacing nervously while Xiangling fidgets with Guoba at her side, and Qiqi standing perfectly still, her pale eyes reflecting the moonlight.

"Young Master!" Xiangling calls out, stepping forward before stopping short at the sight of blood on Xingqiu's collar. Even Chongyun's usual composure falters slightly, while Qiqi tilts her head out of curiosity and concern.

The stain has dried dark against the pristine silk, and Xingqiu wears it without shame, like ornamentation earned through violence. But as the servants rush to tend to the rescued children, Zhongli approaches with a cloth retrieved from his coat, his gestures quiet and methodical.

"The others will gawk if you’ll carry on with this nonsense," Xingqiu warns, though he doesn't move away as Zhongli reaches for the stain without asking for permission.

"Let them," Zhongli simply answers, brushing the cloth gently over the silk. His movements are careful, reverent, as if tending to something precious rather than merely clearing away evidence. There's something different in his manner now— more doting than the careful formality he usually maintains in front of the other staff.

"You've a peculiar way of expressing loyalty," Xingqiu says quietly, watching Zhongli's face in the moonlight while the servants bustle around them with the children.

Zhongli's amber eyes flick to the eyepatch concealing Xingqiu's right eye— a reminder of what binds them together, the contract mark hidden beneath. "Loyalty is too weak a word."

"Then try obsession," Xingqiu says, his visible golden eye sharp with challenge. "At least it's honest."

Zhongli's lips curve into a wry smile. "I prefer ‘inevitability’."

He finishes his task with practiced efficiency, but his hand lingers at Xingqiu's throat for a heartbeat longer than necessary, fingers tracing the line where collar meets skin. Around them, the other servants continue their work, but in this small pocket of space, the world has narrowed to just the two of them once again before Zhongli finally draws back.

But Zhongli's attention doesn't waver. His sharp eyes catch the thin line of blood on Xingqiu's cheek— a small cut from their earlier confrontation that had gone unnoticed in the chaos. Without hesitation, he produces another cloth and reaches toward the wound.

"Seriously, Morax. You always hover like an anxious mother hen," Xingqiu says, though there's no real irritation in his voice as he allows the ministration.

"And you always bleed like a reckless heir," Zhongli replies, dabbing at the cut with gentle precision.

"How poetic. Be sure to etch it on my tombstone when I die dramatically."

"Oh don’t worry, Young Master. I already commissioned Director Hu for the stone." 

The exchange draws a soft laugh from Xingqiu, but as Zhongli tends to the minor wound, his mind begins to drift back to the events below ground. Dottore's words echo in his memory, each syllable carrying the weight of revelation and the promise of retribution.

If the Fatui truly were behind his family's murder, his vengeance had found a direction at last. The thought should bring satisfaction, yet it also carries a heavier implication— one that makes his gaze unconsciously drift to Zhongli's focused expression.

When vengeance was complete, Zhongli would claim his due.

Strangely, that thought troubled Xingqiu less than it once had. After all, what was one soul compared to justice? The contract had always been clear about its terms, and perhaps... perhaps there were worse fates than belonging to someone who tended wounds with such careful devotion.

His contemplation is interrupted by the sight of Zhongli carefully adjusting his hold on one of the rescued children, cradling the small form with infinite gentleness. The child stirs slightly, unconsciously curling closer to the warmth, and something sharp and unexpected twists in Xingqiu's chest.

"You're carrying them like porcelain," he observes, his voice deliberately light to mask the odd sensation. "Should I be jealous?"

Zhongli doesn't falter in his careful steps, though his amber eyes flick to Xingqiu with something that might be akin to amusement. "They've yet to insult me before tea, my Lord."

"Then they clearly lack taste," Xingqiu replies, the familiar banter helping to settle the strange flutter of possessiveness that had caught him off guard.

The journey back takes longer than expected with their precious cargo, and by the time they reach safety, the sky has deepened into full night. The rescued children had been delivered to the Millelith, along with a detailed report for the Qixing about the Fatui operation. The underground workshop had been thoroughly destroyed, Zhongli's Geo powers ensuring nothing remained that could be salvaged. Afterwards, the small group finds themselves making camp near the outskirts of the eastern district, too weary to travel further.

The fire crackles quietly as they settle around its warmth, the tension of the evening finally beginning to ebb. Xiangling pokes at the flames with a stick, her usual energy somewhat subdued but not entirely dampened.

"Ooh, ooh, let's tell ghost stories!" she chirps suddenly, as if the idea has just struck her. "Chongyun, you go first."

Chongyun clears his throat, looking uncomfortable but unwilling to refuse. "There once was a dumpling shop at the base of Mt. Aocang. One night, the owner—"

"Is this the one where you tried to exorcise your own soup?" Xingqiu interjects, a touch too smoothly, grateful for the distraction from his earlier unsettling thoughts.

"That soup hissed at me," Chongyun says defensively.

"It was boiling," Qiqi offers in her flat, matter-of-fact tone.

Xiangling giggles, the sound bright against the crackling flames. "Okay, my turn! A shadowy figure walked into the kitchen and said—"

"You burned the fish again," Qiqi interrupts.

"No! I did that after the ghost appeared."

A long silence falls over the group. Qiqi stares blankly at the fire, her pale face reflecting the orange glow, then speaks in her usual emotionless tone. "Sometimes I wake up in the garden and wonder if I'm still dead."

The silence that follows is heavier, more profound. Even the fire seems to crackle more quietly.

Chongyun coughs delicately, breaking the uncomfortable stillness. "Perhaps we tell uplifting stories next time."

A tranquil calm has fallen over Liyue Harbor by the time they return to their temporary lodgings— a modest but well-appointed building owned by the Feiyun Commerce Guild.

In the private dining room of their lodgings, Xingqiu sits with his assembled servants, the mood somber despite Xiangling's excellent meal.

"The children will recover," Qiqi reports in her monotone voice. "Administered... herb remedy. Purges foreign substances."

"Good work, Qiqi," Xingqiu nods approvingly. "How long until the effects of the mind control fade completely?"

"Three days... approximately," Qiqi answers, clutching her notebook where she has recorded the symptoms. "Memory... may remain affected."

"Which could be a blessing," Chongyun adds quietly. "Some experiences are better forgotten."

Xingqiu turns to the exorcist. "Did you find any other tunnels during your search?"

"Two more," Chongyun confirms. "Both abandoned. Based on the spiritual residue, they were used recently but cleared out in a hurry."

"Dottore must have had contingency plans in place," Xingqiu muses. "He evacuated his other operations when he realized we were investigating."

Zhongli, who has been standing silently by the wall, steps forward to refill Xingqiu's tea cup. His butler's uniform has been replaced with a clean one, showing no signs of the earlier confrontation.

"Young Master," he says, "the Millelith Captain requests an audience tomorrow regarding the incident. Additionally, a messenger from the Jade Chamber delivered this." He presents a sealed letter bearing the Qixing's official mark.

Xingqiu accepts the letter but doesn't open it immediately. "Alright, everyone should rest. It's been a trying day."

The servants bow and file out quietly— Qiqi clutching her medical notes, Chongyun shouldering his claymore, Xiangling gathering the dishes with Guoba in tow. Soon, only Xingqiu and Zhongli remain in the softly lit room.

Breaking the seal, Xingqiu scans the contents while Zhongli continues clearing the table with practiced efficiency. "The Tianquan wishes to speak with us personally. Tomorrow at noon." He sets the letter aside and picks up a leather-bound report from the side table. "Could you read this aloud for me? My eyes are tired."

Zhongli promptly takes the document and begins reading the incident report with perfect cadence, his voice carrying the weight of ancient authority even in mundane recitation.

"The Doctor was right," Xingqiu drawls from where he's settled back into his chair. "You do have a sickeningly pleasant voice. Like honey over razorblades."

Zhongli doesn't miss a beat. "Shall I stop, my Lord?"

Xingqiu smiles coyly. "No. I like the sound of you being obedient."

A comfortable calm descends between them as Zhongli continues, with the soft rustle of pages and the distant sounds of the Harbor drifting through the windows occasionally chiming in. When he finishes, Xingqiu picks up the letter again, studying it with renewed attention.

"A personal summons from the Tianquan herself," he muses. "That's highly unusual. Typically, the Qixing communicate with the Watchdog through intermediaries to maintain deniability."

Zhongli sets the report aside, his expression thoughtful. "Perhaps the situation is far more serious than initially assessed. Or perhaps recent events have drawn attention to matters the Qixing would prefer to handle directly."

"Either way, it means we've stepped into deeper waters than expected." Xingqiu folds the letter thoughtfully. "Prepare my formal attire for tomorrow— the blue one with silver threading, not the one that looks like mourning clothes. I'm tired of being seen as a victim."

"Of course, Young Master." Zhongli's reply carries the weight of understanding beneath its formal tone. "Shall I also prepare contingency plans for various... outcomes ?"

Xingqiu's smile is sharp. "Always thinking ahead, I see. Yes, do that. Something tells me tomorrow's audience will be far from our usual routine."

The weight of tomorrow's implications settles between them as Zhongli moves to the tea service, his movements deliberate and unhurried. He lifts the pot, steam curling from the spout as he refills their cups with that same maddening precision he applies to everything.

"You're irritatingly calm," Xingqiu mutters, watching Zhongli's steady hands. "Doesn't anything get under your skin, Morax?"

Zhongli pours himself a cup without reply, then meets Xingqiu's gaze. "Only you, Young Master. Routinely."

Xingqiu smirks. "Good. I'd hate to think I wasn't special."

The silence stretches as they both drink, but when Xingqiu sets his cup down, there's a grimace of distaste. "Ugh, you steep it too long," he mutters, swirling the remaining tea. "Are you trying to poison me slowly?"

"If I were," Zhongli replies, "you'd ask for a second cup."

Xingqiu huffs. "Only out of spite." The bitter taste seems to linger on his tongue, matching the acrid weight of the day's revelations that refuse to be swallowed down so easily. He pushes the cup away with a sharp clink against the saucer, the sound echoing in the quiet room like a crack in porcelain, and something in his carefully maintained facade seems to fracture along with it.

Without another word, Xingqiu retreats to his private room with Zhongli following silently behind, the butler's footsteps a whisper against the wooden floors. Once the door is closed, the Young Master's carefully maintained composure slips slightly, revealing the exhaustion beneath like a mask finally allowed to slip from weary features. The weight of performance, of being the unshakeable Watchdog, suddenly feels heavier than his waterlogged clothes had been in those underground tunnels.

"Dottore mentioned my father," he says quietly, gazing out the window at the Harbor lights that twinkle like distant stars reflected in dark water. "He implied the Fatui were responsible for the fire."

"So he did," Zhongli replies, moving with practiced efficiency to prepare Xingqiu's nightclothes, his hands steady as they lay out silk and cotton with the same reverence one might show sacred texts. "Though as I cautioned earlier—"

"I know, I know," Xingqiu interrupts, his voice carrying the sharp edge of frustration that came from being told truths he already understood but wished he could ignore. "His words cannot be trusted without verification. Still, it's the first real lead we've had."

Zhongli pauses in his preparations, his fingers stilling on the fabric as if weighing his next words with the same care he uses to measure tea leaves. "If I may, Young Master, there is something about today's encounter that troubles me."

"What is it?"

"The Doctor's presence in Liyue should have been detected by the Qixing's extensive intelligence network," Zhongli says, his voice carrying the weight of someone who understands the intricate web of information that keeps Liyue's political machinery turning. "The fact that it was not suggests either a critical failure of surveillance..."

"Or complicity within the Qixing themselves," Xingqiu finishes grimly, the words tasting as bitter as the over-steeped tea. "Someone powerful enough to hide a Harbinger's movements."

"A possibility worth considering," Zhongli agrees, his tone neutral but his eyes sharp with the kind of ancient wariness that spoke of battles fought in shadows and boardrooms alike.

Xingqiu turns from the window, running a hand through his hair in a gesture that speaks of bone-deep weariness, the kind that comes not from physical exertion but from carrying the weight of too many secrets and too few answers. The humidity from the day's events seems to cling to his skin like an unwelcome second layer, making him feel grimy with more than just sweat and tunnel dust. "In that case, we must be cautious about what we reveal to Lady Ningguang tomorrow," he says, then pauses, his voice dropping to something almost vulnerable. "I need to wash this day off me. Draw a bath— the private one, not the one intended for the servants' quarters."

"As you wish, Young Master," Zhongli replies, and there is something in his tone that suggests he understands the need for cleansing that goes beyond the merely physical.

An hour later, steam still clings to the air of Xingqiu's private bathing chamber when he finally emerges, droplets of water trailing down his shoulders smoothly like liquid silver in the lamplight. The towel arrives in silence, offered with the inevitability of breath, held in hands that never tremble despite their owner's preternatural awareness of every shift in mood and atmosphere. Xingqiu takes it without glancing up, his wet hair clinging to his cheekbones like an unfinished brushstroke, the careful styling of the day dissolved into something more honest and unguarded. The bath had washed away the grime and tension, but it had also stripped away some of the armor he wore oh-so carefully in public, leaving him feeling both cleaner and more exposed than he had been since that morning.

"You always appear when I'm most exposed," he says, voice cool but laced with something that isn't quite disdain— something that carries the weight of recognition, of a game played between predator and prey where the roles shift like shadows in candlelight. "A voyeur's instinct, or something older?"

Zhongli says nothing for a moment, and the silence stretches between them— not hesitation, but precision, the kind of careful measurement that comes before delivering words that might cut too deep or reveal too much. When he finally speaks, his voice carries the weight of geological ages and the hunger of something that has learned patience through millennia of practice. "An old instinct, perhaps," he murmurs, his amber eyes tracking the path of water still beading on Xingqiu's collarbone. "After all, predators recognize the moment prey lets its guard down."

"How odd. I don't recall granting you permission to bare your teeth," Xingqiu replies, but there is no real rebuke in it— only the familiar dance of words they perform, each phrase a step in a choreography both understand without ever having learned the steps.

"Oh, but I never bite without consent, Young Master," Zhongli says, stepping forward with the fluid grace of something that moves through water rather than air, his presence filling the steamy space between them until the very air seems to thicken with unspoken possibilities.

Zhongli steps forward still, brushing a single droplet from Xingqiu's temple with a gloved fingertip, the touch so light it might have been imagined if not for the way it sends electricity down Xingqiu's spine. The gesture lingers there— too tender for threat, too practiced for kindness, too deliberate for casualness. "But I do… observe," he adds, his voice dropping to something that is barely more than a whisper but carries the weight of confession.

As Zhongli helps Xingqiu change for bed, the Young Watchdog notices his butler's movements are slightly stiffer than usual.

"The liquid from the workshop," Xingqiu says. "You claimed it couldn't harm you, yet it appears to have had some effect."

A faint smile crosses Zhongli's face. "Your observational skills continue to improve. Yes, I admit that there has been some... interaction between the essence and my own nature."

"Is it dangerous?"

"Not to me, nor to you. But it has... awakened certain aspects of my power that had grown dormant."

Xingqiu's eyes narrow. "You're being deliberately vague."

"My apologies. The substance was indeed what I described— crystallized divine essence. As a former Archon myself, exposure to such material causes resonance." Zhongli straightens the bedcovers meticulously. "Think of it as reawakening old memories within my very being, if you will."

"And is this good or bad for our contract?"

Zhongli's amber eyes meet Xingqiu's asymmetrical ones directly. "The contract remains unaffected. If anything, my ability to serve you has been enhanced, my Lord."

Xingqiu nods, satisfied with the answer. As he settles into bed, he asks one final question. "Morax, if the Fatui are indeed behind my family's murder, and if there is corruption within the Qixing... can we prevail against such powerful enemies?"

Zhongli extinguishes all but one small lamp, casting the room in soft shadows. "Young Master, in my painfully long existence, I have witnessed the fall of gods and the rise of mortals. Power comes in many forms, and often the most unexpected vessels contain the greatest strength." He bows formally. "Rest assured, our contract ensures my complete dedication to your cause until your vengeance is achieved."

"And then you take my soul," Xingqiu murmurs, eyes already growing heavy with exhaustion.

"As agreed," Zhongli confirms softly. "But until that final moment, my power is yours to command."

As Xingqiu drifts to sleep, Zhongli stands watch by the window, his amber eyes glowing faintly in the darkness. Outside, a raven with unusually intelligent eyes perches on a nearby rooftop, watching the lodgings with unnatural focus before taking flight toward the mountains where the Fatui are known to have established a base.

The game had only just begun.

Morning light filters through the windows when Xiangling's voice cuts through the peaceful quiet, sharp with alarm as she bursts into the common room holding a spongy violet mushroom aloft with tongs. "Which one of you idiots labeled this 'edible'?!"

Qiqi raises her hand with the same mechanical precision she applies to everything. "It looked happy."

"That's because it's a Smiling Shroom! If you eat this, you'll laugh uncontrollably for two hours, and maybe even rip a lung!" Xiangling's voice pitches higher with each word, the kind of panic that comes from knowing exactly how dangerous culinary mistakes could be.

Chongyun blinks, his pale face somehow managing to grow paler. "Oh gods. I put it in the tea."

Xiangling stares at him in horror, the tongs trembling in her grip as the implications sink in. Guoba bounces excitedly beside her, apparently delighted by all the commotion, and breathes a small puff of flame that singes the mushroom in the tongs— which only makes it release more spores into the air.

"For Mr. Zhongli," Chongyun adds helpfully, as if this detail might somehow improve the situation.

As if summoned by the mention of his name, Zhongli enters the room with his usual measured gait, adjusts his gloves with mechanical precision, and pours himself another cup of the tainted tea without the slightest change in expression. 

"How do you feel… Mr. Zhongli?" Xiangling asks nervously, watching as he takes a languid sip while Guoba sniffs curiously at the teapot.

Zhongli stares blankly ahead for a moment, his amber eyes unfocused in a way that was deeply unsettling on features usually so controlled. "The walls are vibrating with ancient joy," he says in his usual measured tone, as if commenting on the weather.

"That's... not good," Xingqiu murmurs from the doorway, drawn by the commotion and immediately regretting his decision to investigate.

"Would you like more?" Qiqi asks innocently, already reaching for the teapot with helpful intent.

"No," says everyone in unison, the word carrying the weight of collective terror— everyone except Guoba, who lets out a cheerful "Lala!" and tries to drink directly from the teapot spout.

Despite the morning's pharmaceutical mishap, they have a schedule to keep. The Tianquan's summons wait for no one, not even accidentally drugged Archons. By the time they depart for the Jade Chamber, Zhongli has recovered enough of his composure to function, though Xingqiu notices his butler's movements carry an almost imperceptible looseness that speaks of lingering effects from Chongyun's well-intentioned poisoning attempt.

The ascent to the Jade Chamber always impresses visitors of Liyue Harbor, but Xingqiu has made this journey far too many times already to be awed by the floating palace. As the platform carries them upward, he adjusts his formal attire— a more elaborate version of his usual blue coat, with the addition of the Feiyun Commerce Guild's official insignia prominently displayed, marking him as both Guild Master and Watchdog.

Beside him, Zhongli stands perfectly poised despite the rapid ascent and the morning's chemical adventure, not a hair out of place in his formal butler's attire. They have decided that only Xingqiu and Zhongli would attend the meeting with Ningguang, while Chongyun, Xiangling, and Qiqi would continue investigating the Fatui connections in the Harbor— and hopefully avoid any further culinary disasters in their absence.

"Remember," Xingqiu says quietly, "we reveal nothing about Dottore's claims regarding my family until we know who can be trusted."

"Of course, Young Master," Zhongli replies. "I shall follow your lead."

As they reach the Jade Chamber's entrance, they are greeted by Baishi, one of Ningguang's most trusted secretaries.

"Master Xingqiu," she bows respectfully. "Lady Ningguang awaits you in the inner chamber." Her eyes flicker briefly to Zhongli with a hint of curiosity. "Your... attendant may wait in the antechamber."

"My butler accompanies me," Xingqiu states firmly. "As is the tradition of the Watchdog."

Baishi hesitates only momentarily before nodding. "As you wish. Please follow me."

They are led through the opulent corridors of the Jade Chamber, past valuable artifacts and artworks from across Teyvat. The wealth on display would have impressed most visitors, but Xingqiu's expression remains impassive. The Feiyun Commerce Guild, before its partial downfall, had possessed comparable treasures.

The inner chamber is a study of elegant simplicity compared to the rest of the Jade Chamber. Ningguang sits behind a desk of polished jade, examining documents with careful attention. She looks up as they enter, her piercing gaze assessing both Xingqiu and Zhongli in a single glance.

"The Qixing's Watchdog arrives promptly," she remarks, setting aside her papers. "Please, be seated."

Xingqiu takes the offered chair while Zhongli positions himself standing slightly behind his master's right shoulder— close enough to serve, far enough to show respect for the proceedings.

"Your report regarding the Fatui operation was most disturbing," Ningguang begins. "Children being used to process divine essence? A Harbinger operating within our borders without detection? Most concerning."

"Indeed," Xingqiu replies carefully. "The operation appeared to have been in place for some time. Several weeks at minimum."

Ningguang's expression reveals nothing. "And yet our intelligence network detected no sign of a Harbinger's presence."

"A failure worthy of investigation," Xingqiu suggests mildly.

A subtle tension fills the air between them, the implication hanging unspoken.

"Indeed," Ningguang finally responds. "Which brings me to the purpose of this meeting." She leans forward slightly. "The Qixing have reason to believe there is a traitor within our ranks."

Xingqiu maintains his composure, though this direct acknowledgment surprises him. "A serious accusation, Lady Ningguang."

"One I would not make lightly," Ningguang agrees. "Over the past year, several operations against Fatui interests have failed due to information leaks. Shipments intercepted, agents exposed, diplomatic negotiations undermined." Her eyes narrow. "And now, a Harbinger operating in our city without my knowledge."

"And you believe I can help identify this traitor?"

"The Watchdog operates outside our formal structure precisely for situations such as this." Ningguang's gaze flicks briefly to Zhongli before returning to Xingqiu. "Though I admit, I was most surprised by your choice of... household staff after your family's tragedy."

Xingqiu remains expressionless. "My servants were chosen for their unique abilities."

"So I've observed. A boy from a renowned line of exorcists, a chef with connections to the Wanmin Restaurant, an unusual child with remarkable medicinal knowledge, and..." her eyes focus fully on Zhongli now, studying him with the calculating gaze of someone who has built an empire on reading people and their hidden worth, "a butler whose abilities seem rather extraordinary."

Zhongli meets her scrutiny with perfect composure, smiling as he bows slightly with the fluid grace that speaks of centuries of practiced deference. "I am simply a most solid butler, Lady Ningguang," he says, his voice carrying that familiar weight of ancient authority wrapped in humble service.

Something flickers in Ningguang's eyes— recognition, perhaps, or merely the acknowledgment of a game being played by masters. "If you say so," she murmurs, the words loaded with implications neither one seems inclined to explore further.

"My household arrangements are not relevant to the matter at hand," Xingqiu redirects smoothly, his tone carrying just enough edge to remind the Tianquan that he is here as an equal, not a supplicant. "You mentioned a traitor within the Qixing. Do you have suspects?"

Ningguang allows the deflection. "Three possibilities. Keqing, the Yuheng, has been unusually vocal about establishing closer relations with Snezhnaya. Uncle Tian has made several unexplained trips to the border regions. And Gang'en has been handling our security protocols— protocols that have repeatedly failed, if I may add."

"You suspect your closest allies?" Xingqiu raises an eyebrow.

"I suspect everyone," Ningguang replies coolly. "That is how I have survived this long. The Qixing operates on a delicate balance of power and mutual interest. Trust is a luxury I cannot afford."

"And what exactly do you want from me?"

Ningguang produces a sealed document. "Your official commission as the Watchdog. Investigate the three suspects. Determine if any are working with the Fatui. Report directly to me— and only to me."

Xingqiu accepts the document but doesn't open it. "And if I find evidence implicating someone else entirely?"

"Then you bring that evidence to me as well." Ningguang's expression hardens. "Liyue's security has been compromised. As the Tianquan, I will not allow it to continue, regardless of who is responsible."

Xingqiu nods, tucking the commission into his coat. "Very well. I accept this task in my capacity as the Qixing's Watchdog."

"Excellent." Ningguang rises, signaling the end of the meeting. "One more matter before you go. During your investigation yesterday, witnesses reported unusual geological phenomena— stone moving without visible cause, perfectly formed passages appearing in solid walls."

Xingqiu's expression remains neutral. "The Fatui possess many unusual abilities. Their Delusions can mimic Visions in many ways."

"Indeed," Ningguang agrees, though her gaze has shifted to Zhongli again. "Though these descriptions reminded me of old stories about Rex Lapis himself."

Zhongli bows slightly. "A flattering comparison, Lady Ningguang, though greatly exaggerated. If I may suggest, the Geo Archon's abilities were said to move mountains and raise islands. The modest alterations witnessed yesterday hardly compare.”

"Of course," Ningguang smiles thinly. "Merely an observation."

As they depart the Jade Chamber, Xingqiu remains silent until they are well away from any potential eavesdroppers.

"She suspects what you are," he finally says as their descent platform nears the ground.

"She suspects something," Zhongli corrects. "But without concrete evidence, suspicion remains merely that."

"And if she obtains evidence?"

The butler laughs softly. “Then I’m afraid I shall have to stage a little accident for the Tianquan.”

Xingqiu narrows his eyes. “Morax.”

Zhongli adjusts his gloves. "We shall deal with that circumstance as it arises. For now, we have three suspects to investigate."

Xingqiu nods, his mind already planning their approach. "We'll start with the Yuheng. Her outspoken position on Snezhnayan relations makes her the most obvious suspect."

"And therefore, potentially the least likely," Zhongli comments.

"Precisely." Xingqiu's eyes narrow. "Though I wonder if our investigation is truly about finding a traitor within the Qixing..."

"Or if we ourselves are being tested?" Zhongli finishes the thought.

"Exactly. Lady Ningguang revealed very little while attempting to learn much about us."

"A strategy worthy of her reputation," Zhongli acknowledges. "How shall we proceed, Young Master?"

Xingqiu considers for a moment. "We play her game for now. Investigate as requested, but keep our true focus on finding connections between the Fatui and my family's murder."

As they reach the ground, a messenger approaches them urgently— one of the Feiyun Commerce Guild's trusted couriers.

"Young Master," the man bows hastily. "An urgent matter at your temporary lodgings. The exorcist sent me to find you immediately."

Xingqiu and Zhongli exchange glances. "What has happened?" Xingqiu demands.

"An intruder, sir. They left something in your quarters. Master Chongyun said you should return at once."

Without another word, Xingqiu and Zhongli hurry toward their lodgings, unaware of the figure watching them from the shadows of a nearby tea house— a young woman with lavender hair and an electro vision glinting at her back.

"Interesting," she murmurs to herself. "Very interesting indeed."

The lodgings appear undisturbed from the outside, but the tension in the air is palpable as Xingqiu and Zhongli enter. Chongyun meets them in the entryway, his normally calm demeanor visibly shaken.

"Young Master," he bows quickly. "Thank goodness you've returned."

"What happened?" Xingqiu demands as they follow the exorcist through the building.

"I was patrolling the perimeter as instructed when I sensed a disturbance— a flash of elemental energy unlike anything I've encountered before." Chongyun's hands tighten around his claymore. "By the time I reached your quarters, the intruder was gone."

They arrive at Xingqiu's private room to find Xiangling and Qiqi standing guard outside. The chef looks uncharacteristically serious, her cooking implements replaced with a formidable-looking polearm, while Guoba stands protectively beside her, small flames flickering around his form.

"No one else has entered since we found it," Xiangling reports.

Zhongli steps forward, placing himself between Xingqiu and the doorway. "Allow me to investigate first, Young Master."

Without waiting for a response, he enters the room, scanning for potential threats. His amber eyes glow faintly as he extends his senses throughout the space. A long moment passes before he emerges.

"It appears safe," he announces, "though most disturbing."

Xingqiu turns to his loyal retainers. "Thank you all for your vigilance. Chongyun, please resume your patrol of the perimeter— expand the range if necessary. Xiangling, return to the kitchen and ensure our evening meal preparations continue as normal. We mustn't appear to have been rattled by this small incident."

Chongyun hesitates. "Young Master, maybe I should remain—"

"Your skills are better utilized ensuring no further intrusions occur," Xingqiu interrupts gently but firmly. "Zhongli and I will examine what our visitor has left behind."

Qiqi tugs at Xiangling's shirt. "Qiqi will... help with cooking. Good for... appearances."

"Smart thinking," Xingqiu nods approvingly. "Carry on as if nothing has happened. If anyone asks, tell them I'm reviewing correspondence with Zhongli."

After the others depart, Xingqiu enters his quarters to find them meticulously unchanged— except for a subtle addition. On his bed lies a small paper fox, folded with precise origami techniques. Beside it rests a familiar-looking book— one from his family's private collection that he had believed lost in the fire.

"How is this possible?" he whispers, approaching the bed. "This book was in my father's study the night of the fire."

Zhongli moves to his side, examining the items carefully without touching them. "Both items carry traces of elemental energy. Electro, predominantly, but masterfully concealed. No immediate threat that I can detect."

Xingqiu carefully picks up the origami fox. As soon as his fingers touch the paper, it unfolds itself, revealing a message written in elegant calligraphy:

The Watchdog hunts a traitor, but fails to see the trap. Look to the archives of your father to find the truth. What burned was not all that was lost. —A Friend of Contracts

Below the message is a strange symbol— a fox with flowing tails arranged in a circle.

"Friend of Contracts?" Xingqiu looks at Zhongli. "Do you recognize this symbol?"

A rare expression of surprise crosses Zhongli's face. "Indeed. This is the mark of Yae Miko, the chief priestess of the Grand Narukami Shrine in Inazuma. A cunning kitsune who serves as the familiar of the Electro Archon."

"What would an Inazuman shrine maiden want with me?" Xingqiu wonders.

"Perhaps her interest lies not with you directly," Zhongli suggests carefully, "but with certain... associations you maintain."

Xingqiu understands immediately. "She knows what you are."

"So it would seem."

Xingqiu turns his attention to the book that had accompanied the message. "This appears untouched by fire. If it was truly in my father's study that night..."

"Then it was removed before the fire," Zhongli finishes. "Possibly by the same people who set it."

Xingqiu picks up the ledger— a record of his father's private business dealings, distinct from the official Feiyun Commerce Guild records. He had seen it many times as a child but had never been permitted to read its contents.

"'Look to the archives of your father,'" he quotes from the message. "Perhaps this is what our mysterious correspondent meant."

Carefully opening the ledger, Xingqiu finds a series of entries dating back several years. Most appear to be standard business notations— investments, loans, contractual agreements— but certain entries are marked with a distinctive symbol that matches none of the standard merchant guild codes.

"These markings," Xingqiu points them out to Zhongli. "Do you recognize them?"

The butler leans closer, studying the symbol. "It appears to be an ancient form of the Snezhnayan royal crest, simplified and partially disguised."

"My father was conducting business in Snezhnaya? With the Fatui?" Xingqiu's brow furrows.

"Not necessarily the Fatui," Zhongli corrects. "Snezhnaya has legitimate business interests separate from their diplomatic and... clandestine operations."

Xingqiu continues scanning the ledger until he reaches the final entries, dated just weeks before the fire. His father's normally precise penmanship becomes increasingly agitated, with several notes scrawled in the margins:

"Cannot comply with latest demands." "Threatened exposure if cooperation withdrawn." "Meeting scheduled— final attempt at negotiation."

The last entry, dated the very day of the fire, contains only two words: "Rex Lapis."

Xingqiu looks up at Zhongli, whose expression has grown perfectly still. "My father invoked your name. On the day he died."

For a moment, silence hangs heavily in the room.

"It would appear," Zhongli finally says, "that your father was involved in matters more complex than mere commerce. And that involvement may have led to his demise."

"But what was the connection? Why would foreign interests target my family specifically?"

"Information," Zhongli suggests. "As the Qixing's Watchdog, your father would have known secrets valuable to foreign powers."

"Or leverage," Xingqiu counters. "These notes suggest he was being pressured to comply with something. When he refused..."

"They eliminated him and his family," Zhongli concludes grimly. "A common tactic when agents of influence outlive their usefulness."

Xingqiu closes the ledger, his expression hardening. "So my father may have initially worked with Snezhnayan interests, only to try to break ties later."

"When honor reasserted itself," Zhongli observes quietly.

"And he paid with his life," Xingqiu's voice grows cold. "Along with my mother and brother."

He meets Zhongli's eyes directly. "This information changes our approach. While we will maintain the pretense of investigating for Lady Ningguang, our true purpose is now clear: find the specific agents responsible for pressuring my father and ordering the attack on our family."

"And once found?" Zhongli asks, though the answer is evident.

"Justice will be served," Xingqiu replies simply. He gestures to the unfolded origami. "And we also need to learn more about this Yae Miko. Why would an Inazuman shrine maiden involve herself in Liyue affairs?"

"Guuji Yae's motivations are rarely straightforward," Zhongli explains. "She is known for playing complex games spanning nations and years. However, she is also bound by certain principles— one being her loyalty to the Electro Archon."

"Could the Electro Archon have an interest in foreign activities here?"

"Undoubtedly. The Fatui have been attempting to collect Gnoses from all the Archons. Ei— as she is truly named— would certainly monitor such activities, particularly those involving..." he hesitates, "... former Archons."

The implication settles between them: Yae Miko's involvement might have more to do with Zhongli's presence than with Xingqiu's quest for vengeance.

"So we have potential allies in Inazuma," Xingqiu muses. "Interesting."

"Potential," Zhongli emphasizes. "The Guuji's assistance will never come without cost."

"All relationships have their price," Xingqiu replies, unconsciously reaching a hand over his eyepatch. "For now, we use the information provided and continue our investigation."

"I have prepared a joke," Qiqi announces at dinner.

"And I have immediate regrets," Xingqiu sighs.

Qiqi ignores him. "Why did the ghost go to the apothecary?" she asks, eyes focused on a point just past the wall.

Chongyun hesitates. "Why?"

"To pick up his boo -tanic remedy."

Dead silence fills the dining room. The awkward quiet stretches on for several heartbeats, with everyone processing what they've just heard.

"That was adorable !" Xiangling claps enthusiastically while Guoba bounces beside her, letting out a series of approving noises that sound suspiciously like laughter.

"I rescind her coconut privileges," Xingqiu declares, setting down his chopsticks in resignation.

Zhongli responds without missing a beat. "But she does not have coconut privileges, Young Master."

"Then who keeps buying them?" Xingqiu mutters, shooting a suspicious glance around the table. His eyes narrow as he surveys each face, searching for the culprit behind the mysterious coconut acquisitions.

Guoba suddenly becomes very interested in the grain of rice on his tiny paws, while Qiqi's smile grows just a fraction wider. The timing of these reactions is almost too convenient to be coincidental.

"That would be... confidential," she replies serenely. After a moment, she adds with the same flat delivery, "Dr. Baizhu used to receive letters from a General Mahamatra in Sumeru. I learned from reading their correspondence."

"Ah," Zhongli says with understanding. "That explains the particular style of wordplay."

"The General's jokes were noted to be... historically unsuccessful," Qiqi continues matter-of-factly. "Dr. Baizhu found this... amusing. I have been practicing."

Xingqiu puts his head in his hands. "So you're telling me we're dealing with imported bad jokes?"

"... the success rate appears consistent across regions," Qiqi observes with scientific precision.

The light moment of levity fades as Xingqiu's expression grows more serious, his mind returning to the weighty matters that have consumed his thoughts since discovering the origami fox and his father's ledger. He glances around the table at his loyal retainers, each of whom has proven themselves trustworthy in their own way— even if some of them apparently engage in unauthorized coconut procurement. The investigation ahead will require all their skills, and tomorrow's tasks must be carefully coordinated.

"Since we're all gathered," he begins, his tone shifting from playful exasperation to quiet authority, "I have assignments for tomorrow's activities." He turns to Chongyun first. "Strengthen the spiritual wards around our lodgings. After today's... uninvited visitor, we cannot afford to be caught off guard again."

"Xiangling," he continues, "use your connections among the Harbor's food vendors to gather information— people speak freely around those who feed them. Listen for any unusual talk about foreign merchants or unexpected business arrangements."

"Qiqi, prepare medicines for potential combat— we may soon face opponents more dangerous than common thugs." His voice carries a weight that makes even the zombie's perpetually serene expression grow slightly more focused.

"And me, Young Master?" Zhongli inquires, though his amber eyes suggest he already knows the answer.

Xingqiu's gaze meets Zhongli's directly. "You and I have an appointment with the Yuheng. If Lady Ningguang suspects her of treachery, we should discover why."

As the servants bow and begin to disperse to prepare for their assigned tasks, Guoba letting out a small hum of understanding, Xingqiu lingers in the dining room for a moment longer. The familiar weight of responsibility settles on his shoulders as his mind turns to the mysteries that await unraveling.

Later, alone in his quarters, he studies the origami fox and the ledger once more. The pieces are beginning to align— his father's secret dealings, the connection with the Fatui, the fire that had claimed his family— but significant gaps remain.

Why had his father written "Rex Lapis" in his final entry? Was he seeking divine protection? Or was there another connection between his father and Zhongli's former identity?

And why had Xingqiu himself been spared that night, away from home on what now seems like a suspiciously timed errand?

Questions for another time. For now, the Watchdog has a traitor to hunt— and vengeance to plan.

Keqing's reputation as the "Driving Thunder" of the Liyue Qixing is well-earned. Unlike many of her peers who operate from behind desks and through layers of subordinates, the lilac-haired Yuheng prefers a hands-on approach to her duties. Finding her, therefore, requires understanding her methodical work patterns.

"She inspects the Harbor's defenses personally every third day," Xingqiu explains as he and Zhongli make their way toward the Eastern Harbor wall. "Today, she should be reviewing the artillery placements along the outer fortifications."

True to prediction, they find Keqing overseeing a group of Millelith engineers as they calibrated one of the massive ballistas that protects Liyue's sea approach. Her distinctive violet hair is instantly recognizable.

"Adjust the tension by three degrees," she instructs the engineers. "We need these weapons to be accurate at twice their current effective range."

"Lady Keqing," Xingqiu calls as they approach. "A moment of your time, if possible."

Keqing turns, her sharp eyes assessing the pair instantly. "The Watchdog pays me a visit? How unusual." She gestures for her subordinates to continue their work before stepping aside to join Xingqiu and Zhongli. "What brings you to the Harbor defenses?"

"Routine matters," Xingqiu replies smoothly. "The recent Fatui incursion has raised concerns about our security measures."

"Ah yes, your discovery of their underground operation." Keqing's expression remains professional, but her tone carries a hint of admiration. "Impressive work, locating what our regular patrols missed for weeks."

"Sometimes fresh eyes see what familiar ones overlook," Xingqiu offers diplomatically.

"Indeed. Though I wonder—" Keqing's gaze shifts briefly to Zhongli, "—how much of that success was due to unconventional methods."

The implication hangs in the air between them. Before Xingqiu could formulate a response, Zhongli steps forward with a slight bow.

"Lady Keqing, if I may. While serving the Young Master, I've observed that conventional approaches often fail against unconventional threats. The Fatui rarely operate by expected methods."

Keqing raises an eyebrow, studying Zhongli with renewed interest. "A butler with strategic insights. How fascinating." She turns back to Xingqiu. "Your household selections continue to intrigue me, Master Xingqiu."

"I value competence above tradition," Xingqiu replies. "Speaking of the Fatui, I understand you've advocated for closer relations with Snezhnaya. An unusual position, given recent events."

If Keqing is offended by the direct approach, she doesn't show it. "Policy should be dictated by pragmatism, not emotion. Snezhnaya represents the most advanced nation in Teyvat in terms of technology and manufacturing. To ignore potential benefits from relations with them would be foolish."

"Even when their agents kidnap children from our streets?"

"The actions of the Fatui diplomats and their covert operatives should be treated as separate issues from legitimate trade," Keqing counters. "I condemn their methods while recognizing the potential in proper relations."

"A nuanced view," Xingqiu acknowledges. "Though one that might be misinterpreted by those less... discerning."

Keqing's eyes narrow slightly. "Is there a specific purpose to these questions, Watchdog? Or are you merely passing time while examining our defenses?"

Xingqiu smiles thinly. "Call it professional curiosity. In light of recent security breaches, I find myself interested in various perspectives among the Qixing."

"I see." Keqing's posture shifts subtly— more alert, though not quite defensive. "Then allow me to be direct as well. Yes, I advocate for structured diplomatic relations with Snezhnaya. No, I do not condone or support Fatui espionage or criminal activities. And if you're wondering whether I'm the leak the Tianquan suspects exists within the Qixing— I am not."

The bluntness of her response catches Xingqiu momentarily off-guard.

"You knew about Lady Ningguang's suspicions?"

"Of course," Keqing replies with a hint of impatience. "The Tianquan is as transparent in her methods as I am in mine, to those who know how to look. She suspects me because I oppose her on policy matters. She suspects Uncle Tian because of his recent travels. She suspects Gang'en because of the security failures."

"And if I may be so bold as to ask, then who do you suspect, Lady Keqing?" Zhongli inquires politely.

Keqing studies him for a moment before answering. "If I were investigating a potential traitor within the Qixing, I wouldn’t look at those with obvious connections or disagreements, but at those who have recently changed positions or habits."

"Anyone specific come to mind?" Xingqiu presses.

"Baishi," Keqing says without hesitation. "Lady Ningguang's secretary has recently acquired several luxury items beyond her official means. New jade ornaments, silk from Fontaine, a villa in Qingce village, and so on and so forth."

"Could they perhaps be gifts from a generous employer instead?"

"Lady Ningguang rewards loyalty, but not to that extent." Keqing shakes her head. "But more concerning than material acquisitions is her recent interest in Rex Lapis artifacts."

Xingqiu feels Zhongli stiffen almost imperceptibly beside him. "What sort of artifacts?"

"Items purportedly containing traces of the Geo Archon's power. Ancient stone tablets, crystalline formations from domains now sealed, ceremonial objects used in Rite of Descension preparations." Keqing's expression grows troubled. "She's been quietly purchasing them through intermediaries, then sending them to unknown locations outside the Harbor."

"Has Lady Ningguang been informed of these activities?" Zhongli asks.

"I attempted to raise concerns, but was rebuffed. The Tianquan trusts Baishi implicitly— they've worked together for over a decade."

Xingqiu files this information away carefully. "Thank you for your candor, Lady Keqing."

"Don't mistake it for collaboration," she warns. "I've shared this because Liyue's security transcends personal politics or Qixing power struggles. If there's a traitor working with the Fatui, they must be exposed— regardless of who they are."

With a formal bow, she excuses herself to return to the engineers, leaving Xingqiu and Zhongli to process this new information.

As they walk away from the harbor fortifications, Xingqiu speaks quietly. "What do you make of her claims?"

"They warrant investigation," Zhongli replies carefully. "Interest in artifacts related to Rex Lapis could either be innocent scholarly pursuit, religious devotion, or..."

"Or an attempt to locate items containing traces of your power," Xingqiu finishes.

"Indeed. The Fatui's interest in divine power is well-established. If Baishi is working with them, collecting such artifacts would align with their known objectives."

Xingqiu nods thoughtfully. "We need to learn more about these purchases and shipments. If Baishi is sending Rex Lapis artifacts out of Liyue, we should discover where they're going."

"A task requiring considerable stealth," Zhongli observes. "Perhaps our unusual apothecary might be of assistance? Few notice a quiet child wandering the streets."

"Good thinking. Qiqi can track Baishi's movements while we continue our official investigation." Xingqiu glanced toward the distant silhouette of the Jade Chamber floating above the city. "Which means our next interview is with Uncle Tian."

As they continue through the Harbor, neither notices the small mechanical bird perched on a nearby rooftop, its glass eyes tracking their movements before taking flight toward the northern mountains.

In a hidden Fatui outpost beyond the city, Dottore examines the footage transmitted by the mechanical spy with scientific fascination. Multiple screens display different angles of Xingqiu and Zhongli's conversation, while sophisticated equipment analyzes their vocal patterns and body language.

"Fascinating behavioral dynamics," he murmurs to his masked assistant, making notes on a sheet of paper. "The Young Master continues to hunt for traitors within the Qixing infrastructure. Quite useful for our experimental parameters."

"Shall we eliminate the subjects?" the Fatui agent inquires. "The Watchdog is becoming problematic for standard operations."

"Elimination would be... premature," Dottore replies with the measured tone of a researcher protecting valuable test subjects. "His investigation serves multiple experimental purposes. Allow him to expose the traitor within the Qixing— the resulting political destabilization will provide optimal conditions for our primary research objective."

He turns to a large map of Liyue spread across the table, where several locations are marked with color-coded pins and detailed geological surveys. "With the Geo Archon bound by contract to that boy, we have unprecedented access to study divine power under controlled conditions."

"And the primary target, Doctor?"

Dottore's finger taps a location deep beneath Mt. Tianheng, where extensive research notes are attached to the map. "The real experiment was never about Morax's Gnosis. It concerns what he sealed away centuries ago— power that represents untapped potential for research on divine consciousness."

His unseen eyes gleam with excitement. "The Tsaritsa seeks divine power, but I seek to understand it. To dissect it. To reproduce it." He adjusts his mask, the mechanical components whirring softly. "So let the Watchdog hunt his traitor. We'll be conducting far more... illuminating research."

The invitation arrives at the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor just after sunset— a black envelope sealed with wax the color of amber, bearing no signature but carrying the unmistakable energy of Geo.

The Undertaker cackles as she cracks the seal, her bright scarlet eyes scanning the elegant script. "My, my... the little master finally needs my services."

Her secretary, startled by her sudden laughter, looks up warily. "Director Hu…? Is everything alright?"

"Oh, perfectly splendid," she replies, twirling her staff as she rises. "Mind the parlor, won't you? I have a rather interesting consultation to attend."

As she steps into the night, butterflies of spectral fire dance around her hat. "How delightful! It's been ages since someone attempted to open that particular door."

After their lengthy interrogation with Keqing has yielded more questions than answers, Xingqiu and the others finally return to the Feiyun manor, abandoning their temporary lodgings at the Harbor. The familiar halls of his ancestral home feel both comforting and haunting as they make their way to the back room that has been cleared of furniture except for a single long table. Upon it lay ancient scrolls, bone fragments with peculiar markings, and a map of Liyue with several locations circled in red.

Xingqiu paces impatiently while Zhongli stands perfectly still, watching the window with the practiced stillness of someone accustomed to waiting centuries for the right moment.

"Are you certain she'll come?" Xingqiu asks. "After everything that happened between you two..."

"She's already here," Zhongli interrupts softly.

The door doesn't creak— it simply opens, as if responding to the Undertaker's presence rather than her touch. She enters with fluid grace, her pale complexion and flowing dark robes giving her an ethereal quality in the lamplight. Her bright scarlet eyes with their distinctive white, blossom-shaped pupils immediately fall upon the artifacts arranged on the table, and a knowing smile plays at her lips.

"Well, well... if it isn't my former colleague and his promising young patron," she says, her voice carrying that familiar musical quality that somehow manages to be both playful and unsettling at the same time. "Ancient mysteries spread out like offerings at a shrine. How delightfully macabre."

The air in the room seems to shift with her presence— not colder, but somehow more present , as if the boundary between the world of the living and whatever lay beyond has grown thin.

"Director Hu," Xingqiu says carefully. "Thank you for coming."

"Oh, dear boy, I didn't come for you." Her scarlet gaze fixes on Zhongli with an expression that holds layers of meaning— old hurt, understanding, and something that might have been fondness. "I felt the stone pulse beneath my altar. The old contract still holds, doesn't it, Rex Lapis? Even after all this time."

Zhongli inclines his head with the same formal respect he'd always shown her, though something in his amber eyes suggests deeper currents. "Some bonds transcend mere employment, Director. You know this."

Hu Tao approaches the table, her black-nailed fingers hovering over the bone fragments without quite touching them. "The Abyssal Gateway... I wondered when you'd come calling about this particular problem." She glances up at him. "This is what you foresaw, isn't it? When you left that lovely farewell message carved in stone beneath my feet?"

"Part of it," Zhongli admits.

"And the rest?" She turns to study Xingqiu with those distinctive eyes, taking in details that others might miss. "Ah. The Young Master's unusual... arrangements. How fascinating that Death's former guardian now serves one who walks so close to the edge of something far darker."

Xingqiu straightens, meeting her gaze steadily. "You know what we're dealing with."

"I know that certain foreign interests have been pawing at doors that should remain sealed," Hu Tao replies, her tone growing more serious. "The Doctor's people lack the proper... respect for such thresholds. They see only power to be claimed, not consequences to be weighed."

She begins to circle the table slowly, her movements hypnotic. "But you didn't ask me here for a lecture on Fatui foolishness, did you? You want to know if the gateway can be permanently sealed."

"Can it?" Xingqiu asks directly.

Hu Tao pauses, one hand resting on her ornate staff. The spectral flames around its head flicker in response to her mood. "Such knowledge exists, yes. My family has been the keeper of these particular secrets before your ancestors could even learn how to write contracts." Her eyes find Zhongli again. "Since before certain Archons walked among mortals, even."

"Then you'll help us?"

"Help?" Hu Tao laughs, the sound like wind chimes in a cemetery. "Oh, my dear child, nothing involving the Abyss is ever so simple. There are always prices to be paid, and the currency is rarely gold."

Before she could elaborate, the door bursts open. Chongyun stands there, his usual pallor even more pronounced than normal, frost beginning to form on his clothing.

"Young Master," he reports urgently, "Qiqi has detected movement at the seal. The Fatui are attempting another breach— tonight."

The temperature in the room drops noticeably as Chongyun's yang energy responds to his agitation. Hu Tao claps her hands together with genuine delight.

"Oh, how wonderfully dramatic! Death comes calling so soon!" She turns back to Xingqiu and Zhongli. "Well then, immediate aid it is. We can discuss the... fuller arrangements later."

She reaches into the folds of her robes and withdraws a talisman covered in crimson markings that seem to shift and writhe when looked at directly. The symbols appear to be written in the same Old Liyue script that Zhongli had once carved beneath her altar.

"A temporary measure," she says, offering it to Xingqiu. "Place this at the gateway's heart. It will buy you some time— months, maybe even a year— while we negotiate the permanent solution."

Xingqiu accepts the talisman, noting how it seems to pulse with warmth despite its ominous appearance. "And the price for that permanent solution?"

Hu Tao's expression grows unusually grave. "Not Mora. Not favors. Information, for starters— I want to know the exact nature of your contract with our mutual friend here. But the final price..." She pauses, her scarlet eyes reflecting depths that seem older than her youthful appearance, "... can only be paid in ways that change the very essence of one's being."

"I assumed as much," Xingqiu replies steadily.

As they prepare to depart for the gateway, Hu Tao catches Zhongli's sleeve with fingers that feel surprisingly cold through the fabric.

"Your inscription spoke of preparing for heaven's fall," she murmurs, her earlier playfulness replaced by ancient solemnity. "The ripples of what you've set in motion have reached even the Electro Archon's domain. Such attention from the divine rarely bodes well for mortals. Though I suppose willingly surrendering your Gnosis was... prescient, given what's unfolding now."

"I am well aware of the risks," Zhongli replies quietly. "The visions showed me what would come if I kept it— not just for myself, but for all of Liyue. Some burdens are too great to bear, even for gods. The Gnosis would have drawn the wrong kind of attention when the time came."

"Are you, now?" Her white blossom pupils seem to expand as she studies him. "Then you understand what he must become when your contract reaches its inevitable conclusion— and what you yourself may lose in the process. Trading divine power for mortal bonds... the outcome of such choices are rarely without consequence."

Zhongli's expression remains perfectly composed, but something flickers in his amber eyes. "And that is precisely why I chose him. The same premonitions that guided my decision about the Gnosis also showed me he would be... essential for what's to come."

Hu Tao releases his sleeve and steps back, her smile returning but tempered with something that might have been sadness. Her Death Scythe seems to dim further and the butterflies seem to dance more somberly around it as well, as if sharing in her melancholy. "The stone beneath my altar has been pulsing more frequently lately. I painted over your farewell, you know, but I never removed it. Perhaps it's time I stopped pretending it was just a relic— after all, even we Grim Reapers must sometimes face the Cinematic Records we'd rather not see."

"Perhaps," Zhongli agrees softly. "Though some Records are taken not to be seen, but to serve as warnings for those who come after."

The Undertaker's laughter follows them into the night— a sound that seems to echo from the boundary between worlds, carrying with it the weight of old friendships, necessary partings, and prices yet to be paid. Her Death Scythe's flames flicker once more, as if already anticipating the souls it might soon need to guide across the threshold.

Chongyun's spiritual compass spins wildly as they descend the hidden passage beneath Mt. Tianheng, its needle unable to settle on a single direction.

"The energy here..." he whispers, blue light from his Vision illuminating their way, "it's unlike anything I've encountered. Not quite demonic, but... wrong."

Beside him, Qiqi moves with the steady precision of the undead, her eyes focused. "Many herbs growing here. Not natural. Feeding on strange energy."

Xiangling, who had insisted on joining despite the danger, clutched her polearm nervously. "I'm getting really bad vibes from this place. Like ingredients that should never be mixed."

Xingqiu leads the group with Zhongli at his side, the latter's expression grave as they descend deeper. The passages bore marks of recent disturbance— Fatui equipment hastily abandoned, signs of excavation, and so on and so forth.

"We're too late," Zhongli murmurs. "They've already breached the outer seal."

As they enter a vast underground chamber, the true scale of the Fatui operation becomes clear. Massive drilling equipment surrounds an ancient door carved with glowing Geo sigils, now partially cracked open. Scientists in masks work frantically around devices measuring energy outputs, while Fatui skirmishers stand guard at calculated intervals.

And at the center of it all, Dottore himself, monitoring readouts on a complex apparatus that channels various elemental energies into the ancient mechanism. His distinctive mask gleams under the harsh artificial lighting as he adjusts settings with surgical precision.

"Stay hidden," Xingqiu whispers to his companions. "Let me handle this first part."

He steps forward into the light, a deceptively casual smile on his face. "I must say, the Fatui's archaeological techniques have certainly... evolved. Though I question whether combining ancient Geo constructs with modern Snezhnayan technology yields optimal results."

Dottore doesn't turn immediately, instead making a final adjustment to his apparatus before acknowledging the intrusion. When he does face Xingqiu, his expression— what can be seen of it— carries clinical interest rather than surprise.

"Ah! We meet again, Young Watchdog," he greets, his voice carrying that distinctive scholarly tone tinged with something far more dangerous. "I was wondering when you'd arrive. Your behavioral patterns have been... most illuminating to study from afar."

"Actually, I followed your rather methodical approach quite intentionally," Xingqiu replies. "Your experiments leave distinctive traces for those who know what to look for."

A pause, then Dottore's tone shifts to something almost conversational. "Tell me, where is your... associate? The one whose contract bears such interesting... anomalies. Did you truly come alone to face a controlled scientific endeavor?" His laugh is soft but unsettling. "How delightfully reckless. I do hope you'll survive long enough to provide useful data."

"Oh, I'm never truly alone," Xingqiu replies smoothly, sensing his servant's impending insubordination.

That was when the earth began to tremble.

The battle that ensues would later be excluded from all official Liyue records. Zhongli, though no longer an Archon, commands enough of his former power to contend with Dottore's calculated assault. Rather than direct confrontation, the Doctor deploys a series of mechanical constructs and elemental catalysts, turning the cavern into a controlled battlefield where he can observe and analyze his opponents' capabilities.

Chongyun and Xiangling engage the Fatui forces with surprising effectiveness— his exorcism talismans paralyzing the agents while her Pyronado cuts through their ranks. Qiqi moves with single-minded focus, her Cryo abilities neutralizing the Fatui scientists' attempts to continue their work on the seal.

But it is Xingqiu who faces the greatest challenge. As Dottore's experiments destabilize the ancient mechanisms, part of the seal cracks further, and something begins to emerge— a creeping darkness that seems to consume light itself.

"Fascinating," Dottore murmurs, even as he dodges one of Zhongli's stone spears. "It is reacting exactly as my calculations predicted." His voice carries clinical satisfaction rather than concern. "Tell me, dear butler, do you truly believe you can halt scientific progress?"

"The Abyssal energy is leaking!" Zhongli calls out while deflecting a barrage of experimental projectiles. "Young Master, if I may be so bold as to ask—"

Xingqiu understands immediately. He has discovered for quite some time now that his pact with Zhongli granted him limited access to Geo energy— enough, perhaps, to reinforce the seal temporarily while Zhongli dealt with Dottore.

Placing his hands against the ancient door, Xingqiu channels everything he has learned from studying his contract with the former Archon. Pain lances through him as power far beyond human capacity flows through his mortal form.

Dottore, seeing his carefully orchestrated experiment being disrupted, ceases his combat analysis and focuses his attention on Xingqiu. He raises one hand, and a complex array of mechanical devices emerges from his coat— not to kill, but to incapacitate and preserve for study. "How remarkably disappointing! Do you have any idea what unprecedented research opportunity you are destroying, Young Watchdog? The applications of controlled Abyssal energy could revolutionize our understanding of—"

"I know exactly what I'm protecting Liyue from," Xingqiu gasps through gritted teeth, blood trickling from his nose with the strain.

As Dottore prepares to deploy his capture devices, Chongyun intercepts him, his exorcist blade glowing with yang energy. The young exorcist's usually pale complexion is flushed with determination, his Cryo Vision pulsing with protective fury as he positions himself between the Harbinger and his master.

"You will not touch him!" Chongyun's voice rings out with uncharacteristic steel, his blade leaving trails of frost in the air as he swings it in a defensive arc.

Dottore tilts his head, studying the young exorcist with renewed interest. "Ah, the protective instinct. How... predictable, yet scientifically valuable."

The momentary distraction is all Zhongli needs. With a gesture of finality, he summons a meteor that crashes into the chamber floor, the impact sending shockwaves through the ancient stone and disrupting Dottore's carefully calibrated equipment. The Doctor finds himself caught between Zhongli's overwhelming Geo power and the collapsing cavern, his mask reflecting the chaos with an almost serene gleam.

"How disappointing," Dottore murmurs, his voice maintaining its clinical tone even as he produces a sophisticated device from his coat. "I had hoped for more... comprehensive data collection." The mechanism glows with an otherworldly light, and a portal shimmers into existence behind him, its edges crackling with sinister energy. "No matter. The preliminary results are quite promising."

He steps through the portal with measured precision, his form dissolving into shadow just as Zhongli's stone spears pierce the space he has once occupied. "The Tsaritsa will be most interested in these findings," his voice echoes as the portal begins to close. "Particularly the nature of your... contract."

The weapons embed themselves in the cavern wall with thunderous crashes, sending more debris cascading down around them.

The silence that follows is broken only by the rumble of settling stone and the distant crack of fracturing support beams. Dust fills the air like a choking fog, and somewhere above them, the first drops of rain begin to seep through the damaged cavern ceiling, mixing with the ancient dust to create rivulets of mud.

"The structural integrity is compromised," Zhongli observes, his voice steady despite the chaos surrounding them. His amber eyes survey the damage with calculated precision, already mapping their escape route. "We need to reach the surface."

As they make their way through the collapsing passages, Zhongli's Geo constructs form protective barriers above them, deflecting falling stones and debris. When they finally reach the surface, emerging onto the rooftop of an abandoned workshop overlooking Liyue Harbor, Zhongli turns to address their companions.

"Chongyun, Xiangling, Qiqi," he says, his voice carrying the weight of gentle authority. "Your assistance tonight has been invaluable, but the danger has passed. Please, step aside for a moment and rest. The Young Master and I must discuss... certain matters."

Chongyun hesitates, still gripping his blade, concern evident in his pale eyes. "Are you sure, Mr. Zhongli? If there are more Fatui—"

"There won't be," Xingqiu interjects quietly, his voice carrying an odd finality. "Not tonight. Go."

Xiangling’s usual cheerful demeanor is subdued. "Call if you need anything," she says, shooting a worried glance at both of them before heading toward the stairs.

Qiqi simply nods, her small form already beginning to fade into the shadows. "Qiqi understands. Qiqi will remember to forget this place."

As their footsteps faded into the distance, the storm that had been brewing all evening finally broke in earnest. Lightning splits the sky like divine judgment, illuminating the Harbor below in stark flashes of white and blue that reflects off the wet stone and casts everything in an otherworldly glow.

Smoke still curls from the collapsed entrance behind them, and Xingqiu could feel the residual heat from explosions that had nearly claimed his life. The acrid smell of burnt stone and dead Fatui lingers in the air, a testament to how close they have come to disaster. Part of Zhongli's coat is scorched from a delayed detonation— one that had been meant for him. Fine cracks run along the former Archon's exposed skin where divine energy had briefly bled through during the battle, glowing faintly like veins of molten gold.

The wind tears at their clothes as they stand in the aftermath, rain beginning to fall in heavy sheets. The storm's fury seems to mirror the tension between them, electric and dangerous. Curiously, not a drop touches Xingqiu— Zhongli shields him from it, as always, his Geo energy forming an invisible barrier that deflects the rain without disturbing the air between them.

In the relative quiet above the ruined chamber, with only the storm as witness to their solitude, Xingqiu finally speaks. His voice is barely audible above the wind, but it carries clearly in the charged air between them.

"You could end me at any moment," he murmurs, his fingers unconsciously touching the edge of the silk eyepatch that covers his right eye— the eye that bears the mark of their contract, hidden from the world yet always present, always binding.

"Correct." Zhongli's response is immediate, matter-of-fact, as if they are discussing the weather rather than the precarious balance of power between them.

"But you won't." Xingqiu's statement hangs in the air like a challenge, his remaining visible eye studying Zhongli's face with the intensity of someone trying to solve an ancient puzzle.

"Also correct." There is something almost tender in the way Zhongli says it, as if the words themselves are a form of protection.

Xingqiu turns to face him fully, his movements fluid despite the tension radiating from his frame. His eye is sharp despite the dim light, cutting through the storm's chaos with laser focus. "Because of the contract?"

Zhongli's reply is quiet, but it carries the weight of mountains, and the certainty of stone that had weathered millennia. "Because I'd rather burn."

The words hang between them like a confession, raw and vulnerable in a way that makes the air itself seem to hold its breath. Xingqiu's expression shifts— fury crystallizing into something colder, more deadly, like ice forming over deep water. 

"You disobeyed," he says quietly, tilting his head just slightly in a gesture that manages to be both elegant and menacing. His voice, refined and glacial, somehow carries louder than the thunder that rumbles overhead. Each word is precisely chosen, delivered with the kind of control that speaks of years of practice in wielding authority.

Zhongli remains perfectly still, a statue carved from living stone, unflinching despite the storm lashing around them. "Had I not, your heart would have stopped long before the words left your lips."

"And whose fault would that have been?" Xingqiu's visible eye narrows, and beneath the silk eyepatch, the contract seal pulses faintly— a reminder of the bond that ties them together, visible only as a subtle glow that seems to emanate from behind the dark fabric. "Mine, for trusting a god to follow mortal commands— or yours, for forgetting the terms of our arrangement?"

A silence stretches between them, somber and perilous, heavy with unspoken words and barely restrained emotion. The storm seems to pause, as if even the elements recognize the gravity of the moment. Zhongli steps forward. Just once. Not enough to threaten, but just enough to close the distance until the space between them feels suffocating, until Xingqiu could see the golden flecks in his amber eyes and feel the warmth that radiates from his skin despite the cold rain.

"I did not forget," he says, his voice low and calm like distant thunder. His presence is overwhelming at this distance, carrying the weight of eons and the subtle power that makes mortals instinctively step back. "But some instincts do not yield to parchment. There are patterns older than contracts, Young Master. Even you must have felt that… something shifted."

Xingqiu scoffs, but the sound is hollow, and he does not retreat even as every instinct screams at him to maintain distance. His pride keeps him rooted in place, chin tilted up in defiance. "I felt nothing but disappointment."

Zhongli lifts his hand slowly, gracefully, each movement choreographed and careful. Two fingers brush the edge of Xingqiu's jaw, almost reverently— as if inspecting a relic about to crack, as if touching something infinitely precious and equally fragile. His skin is warm despite the rain, and his touch carries the gentleness of someone who had learned to be careful with breakable things.

"Lie better, Xingqiu," he whispers softly, and there is something almost fond in his voice, as if he is chiding a beloved student rather than acknowledging a deception.

The younger man catches his breath— almost imperceptibly, just the slightest hitch that might have been mistaken for a reaction to the cold. But Zhongli caught it. He always did. His enhanced senses, honed by millennia of existence, misses nothing, least of all the way Xingqiu's pulse quickens beneath his touch.

Xingqiu slaps him hard in the face. His palm stings from the contact, but his expression remains perfectly composed. He points a threatening finger at him. "Don't confuse attachment with duty, Morax. You are bound to me by signature and seal, not sentiment."

Zhongli's amber gaze sharpens, the smoldering color seeming to glow in the lightning's reflection, ancient and knowing. He seems to be more intrigued than furious, amused even. When he speaks, his voice carries the weight of genuine curiosity, as if he is conducting an experiment whose results truly matter to him. "And if it were sentiment... would you be afraid?"

The rain hisses harder against the stone, each drop striking the rooftop with increasing intensity. Steam rises from the places where the water hits still-warm debris, creating an almost ethereal atmosphere around them. Xingqiu does not answer. Instead, he turns with fluid grace and walks toward the stairs leading down from the rooftop, each step as controlled as his breathing, his spine straight and shoulders squared in a perfect display of composure.

Only when he is already halfway down, when the shadows begin to swallow his form, does he speak. His voice drifts up through the rain and wind, carrying clearly despite the storm's fury.

"Next time," he calls without looking back, his tone carrying the kind of quiet authority that makes gods pause and mortals kneel, "follow orders. Or I'll begin to wonder what else you're capable of disobeying."

The words hang in the air long after his footsteps fade, leaving Zhongli alone on the rooftop with only the storm for company and the lingering scent of rain-soaked silk and unspoken promises.

Yae Miko watches from the shadowed terrace of an upper pavilion, a parasol twirling between her fingers though no rain touches her. Her fox ears twitch with curiosity.

“How sweet,” she murmurs, “watching a god try not to kneel.”

Beside her, a shikigami recorder hums faintly, capturing the exchange.

“Morax always did have a fetish for impossible contracts. But this one…” she smiles, slow and sly, “... he’s not protecting the boy’s life. He’s savoring it. Slowly. Like a dessert he’s forbidden to devour.”

In the sterile confines of a Snezhnayan laboratory, Dottore sets down the crystal vision mirror and methodically records his observations on a stack of research notes. This particular Segment of the Doctor— bearing the designation of his younger, more analytically-focused self— adjusts his mask as he reviews the data with clinical detachment.

"Fascinating behavioral patterns," he murmurs to himself, his voice carrying the same scholarly tone but with a slightly different cadence than his prime self. "The Watchdog exhibits classic protective aggression, yet the contracted entity maintains perfect emotional regulation. A most intriguing dynamic."

He pours himself a measured glass of Snezhnayan spirits. "The variables are... unexpectedly complex," the Segment continues, making additional notations with mechanical precision. "Mutual destruction remains a statistical possibility, though the probability matrices suggest a more... catastrophic outcome if their bond destabilizes entirely."

He downs the drink in one go, already calculating the next phase of observation required. Despite himself, he smiles.

“They’re either going to kill each other... or burn the world down trying not to. This is going to be most fascinating indeed.”

In the aftermath of their second confrontation with the Fatui, Xingqiu discovers Hu Tao returning to the manor, casually examining his collection of novels.

"Such romantic notions of heroism," she comments dreamily, shelving a book. "Reality is messier, isn't it?"

"The talisman worked," Xingqiu says, ignoring her observation. "The Gateway is secure for now."

"Of course it worked. I'm nothing if not reliable." She settles into his chair uninvited. "Now, about our arrangement..."

Xingqiu pours two cups of tea, passing one to her. "What do you really want, Director Hu? The contract terms seem trivial compared to the knowledge you possess."

"Trivial?" She laughs. "My dear boy, your soul is bound to one of the oldest beings in Teyvat. There's definitely nothing trivial about that."

She sips her tea, eyes watching him over the rim. "But you're right to be suspicious. What I truly want is to understand the nature of your... transformation."

Xingqiu stiffens. "What transformation?"

"Oh don't play coy," the Undertaker chides him. "The contract is changing you. Surely you've noticed? Dreams of ancient battles you never fought? Knowledge of Liyue you never learned? Abilities no Vision-bearer should possess?"

When he doesn't respond, she continues, "You're becoming something rare indeed— a living gateway between the human and the adepti realm. Neither mortal nor god, but something... in between."

"Like you?" Xingqiu challenges.

Her smile widens. "Clever boy! Not quite like me, no, but still with similar principles. I walk between life and death, while you're being shaped to walk between humanity and divinity."

She leans forward, her gaze suddenly intense. "And that, Master Xingqiu, is why the Fatui want what's behind that gateway. Whatever emerges would find your partially transformed soul quite... appetizing."

"You make it sound as if Morax is preparing me as some sort of sacrifice," Xingqiu says bitterly.

Hu Tao's laughter is genuine this time. "Oh, no, quite the opposite! He's preparing you as a weapon— perhaps the only kind that can truly stand against what stirs beneath Teyvat."

She rises, adjusting her hat. "Our bargain stands. I'll provide the means to permanently seal the Gateway, but in exchange, I'll need access to you during the final stages of your transformation. For observation, you understand."

"And if I refuse?"

Hu Tao's smile never wavers, but the temperature in the room drops noticeably. "Then pray the Fatui never break through, because what waits behind that door hungers for precisely what you're becoming."

As she moves to leave, she pauses at the threshold. "Do visit the parlor when you've decided. We have the most delightful coffins— and I've been designing one just especially for you. But not for use anytime soon, of course," she adds with a wink. "Just a professional courtesy~"

With that, she vanishes in a swirl of spectral butterflies, leaving behind only the lingering scent of incense and the cold weight of impossible choices.

Hours later, as dawn breaks over Liyue Harbor, painting the sky in shades of gold and rose that reflect off the still waters, Xingqiu sits in the courtyard of his estate. The morning light is gentle after the storm's fury, but it did little to ease the tension that seems to follow him like a shadow. Bandages wrap around his hands where the raw Geo energy has burned his skin during the battle, the white cloth stark against his pale fingers as he carefully holds a delicate porcelain cup.

"The seal will hold for now," Zhongli informs him, his voice carrying the measured tone of someone delivering both reassurance and warning. He sets down a matching cup of tea on the stone table between them with practiced grace, the liquid steaming gently in the cool morning air. Despite the early hour, he appears perfectly composed, though there is something guarded in his amber eyes that hasn't been there before their encounter on the rooftop. "But the Fatui now know of its existence. This will not be their last attempt."

The space between them feels charged with unspoken words from the night before, each careful movement and measured glance a reminder of boundaries that had been tested but not crossed. Xingqiu's visible eye— the left one, uncovered and sharp— studies Zhongli's face for any crack in his composure, but finds only the same stoic mask the former Archon has perfected over the millennia.

"Then we'll be ready," Xingqiu replies with determination, though his voice carries a subtle edge that speaks of lingering frustration. His fingers tighten almost imperceptibly around the tea cup, the only sign of the tension coiled beneath his controlled exterior.

Chongyun approaches from the covered walkway that borders the courtyard, his footsteps soft on the polished stone but his expression heavy with concern. The morning light catches the blue tones in his hair, and despite having rested, there are still shadows under his eyes from the night's events. "You nearly killed yourself channeling that power last night, Young Master," he says, his usually gentle voice tight with worry. "The way that energy flowed through you... it wasn't natural. Something that dangerous shouldn't be attempted again."

Xiangling appears beside him, Guoba waddling contentedly at her heels, the small bear-like creature seemingly unbothered by the serious atmosphere as he sniffs curiously at the medicinal herbs that have been scattered on a side table. She carries a tray laden with recovery food— congee with healing herbs, steamed buns filled with restorative ingredients, and a selection of tea known for their strengthening properties. Her usual bright demeanor is notably subdued, replaced by the kind of focused concern that transforms her from cheerful chef to devoted friend.

"I brought everything that might help with the energy burns," she says softly, setting the tray down with careful precision. Guoba makes a small questioning sound and looks up at Xingqiu with dark, intelligent eyes that seem to sense the undercurrents of tension in the group. "Guoba thinks you should eat more. He's worried about you."

"A necessary risk," Xingqiu says with a weak smile that doesn't quite reach his eye, carefully avoiding Zhongli's gaze as he speaks. The dismissive tone is meant to close the subject, but it only serves to highlight the weight of what had transpired.

"One that has accelerated certain... timelines," Zhongli adds solemnly, his choice of words deliberate and carefully neutral. His amber gaze lingers on Xingqiu's bandaged hands, and something flickers across his expression— regret, perhaps, or mere calculation. "The power you channeled last night... it has consequences beyond the immediate. Forces have been set in motion that cannot be easily reversed."

A heavy silence falls over the group like a shroud. The morning birds have begun their songs in the nearby trees, and the distant sounds of Liyue Harbor awakening to a new day drifts over the estate walls, but within the courtyard, the weight of unspoken implications presses down on them all. Xiangling pauses in her arrangement of the food, her hands stilling as she processes the gravity in Zhongli's tone. Guoba seems to sense the mood as well, settling quietly beside her feet with an unusual solemnity.

Qiqi, who has been standing motionless near the garden's edge like a pale statue among the flowering shrubs, finally speaks with her characteristic directness. "Qiqi does not understand everything, but Qiqi knows when people are afraid. Should Qiqi be afraid too?"

"... how long?" Chongyun finally asks, ignoring Qiqi’s own question, his voice barely above a whisper. He has moved closer to Xingqiu's chair, his protective instincts evident in the way he positions himself, ready to offer support or defense as needed.

Zhongli's amber eyes meet Xingqiu's across the table, and for a moment, the careful distance they have maintained since the evening before seems to collapse under the weight of shared knowledge. The air between them crackles with the same tension that has defined their rooftop encounter— grim and fraught with possibilities neither is willing to voice in front of the others.

"Time remains," Zhongli says carefully, his words chosen with the precision of someone walking through a minefield. "But the parameters have... shifted. What was once distant has become more immediate."

Xingqiu's jaw tightens almost imperceptibly, and his fingers drum once against the porcelain cup— a tiny betrayal of his otherwise perfect composure. The gesture is barely noticeable, but Zhongli catches it, just as he catches everything else about the young man who commands both his loyalty and something far more complicated.

"Then we make them count," Xingqiu declares, rising despite his injuries with the fluid grace that never seems to abandon him, even in weakness. The movement causes his silk robes to shift, and the eyepatch covering his right eye catches the morning light, a stark reminder of secrets that lay hidden beneath elegant facades. "Dottore will return. The Fatui will not abandon their plans so easily. And Liyue needs the protection of their Watchdog more than ever."

He looks at his assembled household— friends who have become family, bound together by purpose and loyalty that transcend mere employment and obligation. Chongyun with his unwavering dedication, Xiangling with her fierce protective instincts, Qiqi with her quiet but absolute commitment, and even little Guoba who had somehow become an integral part of their strange family. Each face reflects back the same determination, the same willingness to stand against whatever darkness threatens their home.

"We have work to do," he concludes, and despite the bandages on his hands and the exhaustion that lines his features, his voice carries the unmistakable authority of someone born to lead others into battle.

Guoba hums softly in what seems like agreement, waddling over to bump gently against Xingqiu's leg in a gesture of support that draws small, genuine smiles from the assembled group— the first real warmth that has broken through the morning's tension.

Blood pooled around Xingqiu's knees as he knelt in the hidden chamber beneath the burnt ruins of his family's manor. The metallic scent mixed with the acrid smell of charred wood and ash that still lingered from the devastating fire that had claimed everything he held dear. The arcane symbols carved into the stone floor glowed with an eerie amber light, pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat—an ancient summoning ritual found in a forbidden text from his father's most guarded collection, one that had survived the flames by virtue of being hidden in this secret chamber.

His voice was raw from screaming, from calling out for family members who would never answer again, but he forced the words past his cracked lips with desperate determination. "I call upon the powers beyond the mortal realm," he chanted, each syllable weighted with pain and grief so profound it seemed to make the very air heavy. "I offer blood and intent as payment for audience."

The candles arranged in precise geometric patterns around the ritual circle flickered wildly as a presence filled the chamber, ancient and powerful, pressing against the boundaries of mortal perception like a barely contained storm. The temperature dropped noticeably.

"How unusual," came a familiar voice from the darkness, rich and cultured, carrying the weight of millennia in its measured tones. "Young Master Xingqiu calls upon old contracts and even older powers. Such... exquisite desperation."

From the shadows emerged a tall figure in elegant attire that seemed untouched by time or element, amber eyes glowing in the darkness like molten gold. His presence filled the small chamber, making it feel both impossibly vast and suffocating at once.

"Mr. Zhongli?" Xingqiu's voice cracked with disbelief, his soot-stained features twisting in confusion. "But... how are you here? I was performing a ritual to summon the Geo Archon, not—" His words died in his throat as the implications crashed over him like a tide. The man he had known as Hu Tao's polite, knowledgeable consultant stood before him in response to an ancient divine summoning.

"Then you succeeded admirably," Zhongli said, stepping into the circle of candlelight with fluid grace, each movement deliberate and measured. "Though I suspect this outcome was not quite what you expected."

"You're..." Xingqiu's golden eyes widened, the pieces falling into place with stunning clarity. "You're Rex Lapis. The Geo Archon himself." It wasn't a question— the truth settled over him like a revelation both shocking and somehow inevitable. "I always sensed there was something different about you during our brief encounters. The way you spoke of history as if you had lived through it, your knowledge of ancient customs and rituals..." He drew in a shaky breath. "I thought it was simply your expertise as Wangsheng's consultant, but it was something far greater, wasn't it?"

"Perceptive as always," Zhongli acknowledged with what might have been approval. "I am indeed Morax, though I have long since preferred the name you know me by. But do tell me, what drives the young heir of the Feiyun Commerce Guild to seek audience with an Archon through such desperate means?"

"I seek vengeance," Xingqiu stated, his words cutting through the charged atmosphere like a blade. The declaration felt foreign on his tongue—he who had once dreamed of noble quests and chivalrous deeds, who had spent countless hours reading tales of heroes who saved the innocent and upheld justice through honorable means. "My family— the Qixing's faithful servants for generations— were murdered. Burned alive while I was away on a simple errand, powerless to save them."

His voice cracked, and something twisted in his chest where his idealistic heart had once beat with dreams of heroism. "I used to believe in justice, in doing what was right, in being the kind of hero I read about in stories. But heroes don't let their families burn while they're buying books." The words came out bitter, poisoned by grief and self-loathing. "I want the power to find those responsible and make them suffer as my family suffered. I want them to burn, to scream, to know true terror before they die. Justice is too clean, too merciful for what they deserve."

The boy who had once revitalized the Guhua Clan through his unwavering belief in chivalrous ideals was gone, replaced by something colder, more ruthless. "I used to despise those who resorted to underhanded methods, who mocked the heroes in my stories. Now I realize they were simply more honest about the world's true nature. Honor is a luxury for those who haven't watched everything they love turn to ash."

Zhongli circled him with predatory grace, studying him with the intensity of a connoisseur examining a rare and precious artifact. Each step was silent on the stone floor, but Xingqiu could feel his presence like a physical weight. "And what would you offer for such power? What currency do you possess that might interest one who has witnessed the rise and fall of nations?"

"My soul," Xingqiu answered without hesitation, the words ringing out with startling finality. "When my vengeance is complete, take it. The part of me that once believed in nobility and honor died along with my family in those flames. What remains is something darker, something that thirsts for blood and screams. I care not for what comes after— I care only that those responsible pay in kind."

His golden eyes held a darkness that hadn't been there during their previous meetings, when he'd spent his days reading chivalrous tales and dreaming of becoming a hero worthy of legends. "I was a fool to think honor and justice were the same thing. Real justice requires a willingness to become what your enemies fear most."

Zhongli's eyes flashed with something that might have been hunger, or approval, or perhaps both. "An intriguing offer, young master. But I wonder if you truly understand the weight of what you propose. A soul is not merely a token to be traded— it is the very essence of what makes you who you are."

"I understand perfectly." The boy's voice was steady, resolved, carrying a certainty that belonged to someone far older than his years— or perhaps to someone whose youth had been brutally torn away. "Without them, I am already dead. What use is a soul that once believed in fairy tale heroes and noble quests? That innocence burned with my family. What remains is something sharper, hungrier. Something that understands that sometimes the monster is exactly what the world needs."

The Archon paused in his circling, studying the kneeling figure with renewed interest. When he spoke again, his voice carried a different quality— soft, almost confessional. "Then perhaps I too should explain my own interest, so that you might understand the true nature of what you offer. You see, I plan on stepping down from my role as Archon, and I find myself... adrift. The power of the old gods wanes in this changing world, mortal faith grows thin, and divine strength requires new sources of sustenance."

He moved closer, close enough that Xingqiu could feel the warmth radiating from his form despite the supernatural chill that had filled the chamber. "But souls— particularly exceptional ones forged in tragedy and tempered by unbreakable will— those contain a different kind of power entirely. Raw, pure, and... intoxicating."

A flicker of concern and intrigue crossed Xingqiu's grief-stricken features, momentarily piercing through his desperation. "Wait— what of your duties at Wangsheng? Director Hu depends on your expertise. And you speak of stepping down as an Archon..." His eyes widened in shock. "You mean to abdicate? But why would you abandon your divine responsibilities?"

"I have already departed from the funeral parlor," Zhongli said gently, though there was something firm in his tone. "Not long ago, in fact. The business will manage quite well without me. As for my divine role..." He paused meaningfully. "Let us say that an era of change approaches, and gods must adapt or fade into memory."

"But why abandon everything?" Xingqiu pressed, his grief momentarily overshadowed by genuine bewilderment. "Your position, your duties— surely there must be a reason?"

Zhongli's amber eyes glinted with something mysterious, almost ominous even, as they fixed upon the kneeling figure before him. A knowing smile played at the corners of his mouth as he regarded Xingqiu with an intensity that made the air between them thicken. The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken implications, but he offered no explanation beyond that enigmatic expression.

Moving with fluid grace, Zhongli also knelt before Xingqiu, bringing them to eye level, his amber gaze boring into gold with an intensity that made the space between them crackle. There was something almost approving in his ancient eyes as he studied the transformation before him— the idealistic young man who had once politely inquired about funeral customs now replaced by something far more interesting, and even far more useful.

"Your soul, cultivated through vengeance and stripped of naïve idealism, refined by loss and tempered by righteous fury turned deliciously dark... it would be quite exquisite. A feast worthy of a god preparing for his final transformation." His voice dropped to something barely above a whisper. "I confess, I find this version of you far more... compelling than the curious young scholar who once sought my knowledge. Darkness seasoned with the memory of light creates the most intoxicating flavors indeed."

"Then we have an agreement?" Xingqiu's voice was barely audible, but his eyes never wavered from Zhongli's face.

"Of course." The word was spoken like a caress, weighted with promise and threat in equal measure. "I shall serve as your devoted companion until your revenge is complete. I will protect you with my life, aid you with my power, and obey your commands without question. In exchange, when justice has been served and your vengeance is complete..." He leaned closer, his breath warm against Xingqiu's ear. "Your soul belongs to me. Every perfect, tormented piece of it."

"Then let it be sealed," Xingqiu said, his voice steady despite the tremor that ran through his frame at the proximity.

Instead of taking his hand as expected, Zhongli's fingers traced along Xingqiu's jaw with reverent care, tilting his face upward. "Such binding requires something more... intimate than a simple handshake, young master. A connection that transcends the physical realm."

His thumb brushed gently across Xingqiu's right eyelid, and when the boy's eye opened again, it blazed with amber light that matched Zhongli's own. The transformation was both beautiful and terrible— the iris now bore an intricate Geo symbol that pulsed with divine energy, marking him as bound to powers beyond mortal understanding.

"Naturally, I too must bear the mark of our bond," Zhongli murmured, rising gracefully to his feet. With deliberate slowness, he raised his left hand to his lips. His teeth caught the fingertip of his dark glove, and he pulled it free with predatory elegance, the leather sliding away to reveal pale skin that seemed to glow in the candlelight.

He extended his now bare hand palm-down, and the same symbol materialized on the back of his hand, glowing with amber radiance before settling into what appeared to be an elaborate tattoo that pulsed faintly with each beat of his heart.

"Alas, the contract is finally sealed, Young Master," Zhongli said, his voice carrying new depths of devotion and possession as he pressed his lips to Xingqiu's forehead in a gesture that was both blessing and claim. "From this moment until the end, I am yours to command. And you..." His amber eyes met the matching glow in Xingqiu's right eye. "You are mine to cherish until the day I claim what you have promised."

As twilight descends upon the Feiyun Commerce Guild, casting long shadows through the ornate windows, Chongyun finds Xingqiu alone in the study. The Young Master sits silhouetted against the dying embers of the hearth, his figure rigid with tension that has become all too familiar in recent months. Scrolls of ancient contracts lay unfurled across his cuihua desk like a desperate paper battlefield— attempts to find loopholes in his bargain with Zhongli, each one ending in failure and mounting frustration.

"You've been avoiding me," Chongyun says, his breath visible in the unnaturally cool room despite the fire crackling in the grate. His yang energy had always responded to his emotions, and lately, being around Xingqiu filled him with a bone-deep chill that had nothing to do with his constitution.

Xingqiu doesn't turn from his research, his silk eyepatch catching the firelight as he continues reading. The black fabric has become a constant fixture, hiding what he claims is a training injury, though Chongyun has long suspected there's more to the story. "I've been busy."

"Busy preparing for an end you seem determined to hasten." Chongyun moves beside his childhood friend with careful steps, noting the dark circles beneath the one visible eye, the way Xingqiu's features have grown calculating and cold over the years. His usually pristine appearance shows signs of neglect— ink stains on his fingers, wrinkles in his robes, the subtle tremor in his hands that speaks of too much stress and too little sleep. "The exorcist in me senses it, Xingqiu. Your soul somehow dims with each task Mr. Zhongli completes on your behalf. The spiritual energy around you grows... stranger. Darker."

"That was always the price," Xingqiu replies, his voice carrying the practiced indifference he'd perfected since making his pact with the former Archon. The words come out smooth and controlled, but Chongyun has known him too long to miss the slight catch in his breath, the way his fingers tighten imperceptibly around his brush.

Chongyun places a hand on the desk, frost crystallizing beneath his palm in delicate patterns that spread across the dark wood. "But must you rush toward it? Must every moment be consumed by vengeance and obligation? You barely eat, you don't sleep, and you've shut out everyone who cares about you."

"What else would you have me do?" Xingqiu asks, finally looking up with a brittle smile that doesn't reach his eye. The expression is a pale imitation of the warmth that once defined him, before tragedy had carved away his softness and left only sharp edges behind. "Plan for a future I won't have? Pretend that any of this matters when I know how it ends?"

"Yes," Chongyun says firmly, his voice carrying an intensity that makes the temperature in the room drop several degrees. "That's precisely what I want you to do."

The exorcist moves around the desk and kneels beside his friend's chair, bringing them to eye level. His pale gaze is unwavering, filled with a determination that matches the frost gathering on the window panes behind him. "The contract claims your soul in the end, not how you live until that moment comes. Rex Lapis himself told me as much when I confronted him about what this bargain is doing to you."

Xingqiu's visible eye narrows dangerously, and for a moment, something flashes across his features that looks almost menacing. "You spoke with him? Behind my back? About matters that don't concern you?"

"I did what was necessary to understand what you refuse to explain." Chongyun's voice softens, but his resolve doesn't waver. "He doesn't want your life consumed by bitterness any more than I do. Even he, old as he is, recognizes the waste in watching you hollow yourself out years before the contract can claim you."

Silence stretches between them like a physical barrier, broken only by the occasional crack of dying coals and the whisper of frost spreading across the study's surfaces. Chongyun can hear his own heartbeat, can feel the way Xingqiu's spiritual energy fluctuates like a candle in a storm.

"Xiangling prepares feasts you barely taste, spending hours crafting dishes she hopes might tempt your appetite. Qiqi crafts medicines you take without appreciation, worrying about your health in that quiet way of hers. And I..." Chongyun hesitates, his voice catching slightly. "I watch my dearest friend vanish long before the contract claims him. You're disappearing piece by piece, and I don't know how to save you from yourself."

Something in his words strikes deep, and Xingqiu's carefully constructed facade begins to crack like ice under pressure. His hand trembles as he sets down his brush, ink splattering across the contract he'd been studying. "So I should simply ignore what awaits me, then?" His voice wavers between anger and despair. "Live as though I'm not counting down to my own damnation?"

"No," Chongyun replies, reaching out with both hands to frame Xingqiu's face with gentle care. "I want you to live because you know how it ends. Each moment becomes precious when they're counted." His fingers are cold against Xingqiu's skin, but his touch is infinitely tender. "The revenge you sought is almost complete. Your family's killers have now been identified. Now live the life your family would have wanted you to have."

Before Xingqiu can protest or pull away, Chongyun's fingers find the edge of the silk eyepatch. "And stop hiding from me. We've shared too much for there to be secrets between us now."

"Don't—" Xingqiu starts to say, but the eyepatch is already sliding away, revealing what lies underneath.

Chongyun's breath catches in his throat. Xingqiu's right eye blazes with amber light, the iris transformed into an intricate geo symbol that pulses with divine energy. The mark is beautiful and terrible at once, clearly supernatural in origin, and it explains so much about the changes Chongyun has sensed in his friend's spiritual aura.

"This is the mark of your contract," Chongyun whispers, not a question but a statement of understanding that settles between them like falling snow. "This is how deep the bond goes. It's not just your soul that's bound to him— it's written into your very being."

A single tear traces down Xingqiu's cheek, the salt water catching the amber light of his transformed eye and making it shimmer. "I'm afraid," he whispers, the admission hanging vulnerable in the air between them like a prayer offered to an uncertain god.

"As you should be," comes a resonant voice from the doorway, rich with authority that makes the very air seem to pause in reverence. Zhongli stands there in his perfect posture, amber eyes gleaming in the darkness, having approached with the silent grace of a predator. "Fear is the price of wisdom. But it need not be the architect of your remaining days."

The former Geo Archon enters the study with measured steps, his presence filling the room like incense— overwhelming and impossible to ignore. "Our contract stands unbroken, but its terms were never meant to shackle your living hours— only to claim your final one." A smile, ancient and knowing, crosses his aristocratic features. "Even a bound god can appreciate a master who savors life's banquet rather than merely counting its courses."

"How poetic," Xingqiu sniffs as he wipes away the tear, carefully replacing his eyepatch with practiced movements while a flash of his old wit returns, sharp and defensive. "Next you'll be quoting philosophy at me."

"Perhaps I shall," Zhongli replies with something that might be genuine fondness coloring his voice, "but not tonight. Tonight, I believe Xiangling has prepared a feast for the Lantern Rite Festival that would be a shame to miss. The effort she has put into accommodating your... diminished appetite... deserves acknowledgment."

Chongyun extends his hand with a hopeful smile, frost still clinging to his fingertips but his expression warm with possibility. "Let's go. The others are waiting, and they've been worried about you."

Xingqiu looks between them— his dearest friend and his divine captor— then to the contract scrolls scattered across his desk like the remnants of a lost battle. With a decisive motion that carries echoes of his old determination, he rolls them closed and pushes them aside.

"Very well," he says, rising from his chair with fluid grace that speaks of noble breeding and careful training. "If I am to face eternity in your service, Morax, I might as well ensure I have stories worth bringing with me."

As they walk toward the warm glow of the main hall, where laughter and the rich scent of Xiangling's cooking beckon like a promise of normalcy, Xingqiu feels something loosen in his chest. Not acceptance of his fate— that would be too much to ask— but perhaps a determination to meet it on his own terms, with his dignity intact and memories worth preserving.

His soul was promised, but his life was still his own to shape in whatever time remained.