Chapter Text
"Mr. Zhongli," Chef Mao says suddenly, "is a little strange, don't you think?"
Surprised by the sudden and completely unsolicited comment, Xiangling looks up from her wok, tracing her father's eye to said Mr. Zhongli, leaning over an antique vase at one of the roadside stores. In her time at Wanmin Restaurant, however, she has certainly seen her fair share of strange customers, so after a moment, she just turns back to her frying, flipping the xianbing in the wok over one by one.
"Why do you say that?" she asks, reaching across the counter for the cooking oil.
"Dearest daughter," Chef Mao says then, "he is lecturing the seller on the origins of his own vase."
At that, Xiangling finally looks up from her wok again. Indeed, with one hand on his chin, and the other crossed over his chest, Mr. Zhongli appears to be in the middle of one of his standard monologues, much to the seller's growing befuddlement.
The man is likely a traveling merchant, new to Liyue Harbor and its residents.
"He has a habit of doing that, doesn't he?" Geri comments from the next store over.
"He's a living, breathing encyclopedia," Su Er'niang agrees. "The first time he ate at my store, he spent half an hour outlining the history of Mora Meat."
"Makes you wonder how he knows all of that," Geri muses.
"Oh, he's probably a bookworm," Su Er'niang dismisses. "You know just the sort."
"And yet I've never seen him come by with a book in hand," Chef Mao says thoughtfully. "Quite unlike that second young master of the Feiyun Commerce Guild. That boy always has his nose in a book."
With a sigh, Xiangling finally sets the cooking oil aside.
"Xingqiu is obsessed with light novels, Pa," she says mildly, if a little wryly, flipping the fried xianbing out of the wok and onto a plate. "That's probably different from the kinds of books Mr. Zhongli reads. Have you seen the history tomes up at Wanwen Bookhouse? Those look heavy."
Putting down her spatula, she pushes the plate across the counter.
"Miss Ying'er!" she calls. "Your xianbing is ready!"
Miss Ying'er steps forward to retrieve her plate.
"Well, he's certainly a handsome man," she sighs, and leans her hip against the counter with a smirk. "He'd make a fine specimen if only he'd speak more like a young master and less like my grandfather."
That draws a round of startled laughter.
"Now that you've said it, he does have a rather old-fashioned way of speaking!" Su Er'niang says, still laughing.
"Like someone right out of a historical novel," Ying'er adds smugly.
"He's probably read one too many of those," Su Er'niang says.
"Or maybe he's just the descendant of some old and tragically fallen noble clan!" Ying'er cries, with characteristic melodrama.
Speaking through a mouthful of chop suey, Big-Footed Dajiao finally joins the conversation.
"I overheard the kids down at the wharf speculating that he's an adeptus," he mumbles muffledly, and then takes another large bite off his skewer.
"Oh, now that's a theory," Ying'er gasps, sounding quite intrigued.
After a moment, however, her expression turns sly. She raises her sleeve delicately over her mouth.
"But one must always trust a woman's intuition," she demurs, and coughs. "Say, have there been any tragically fallen noble clans in the last two decades or so?"
"Oh, for Rex Lapis' sake, Ying'er," Su Er'niang sighs. "If you're a woman, then I'm a woman too, and I'm telling you that it's nothing so far-fetched as that. He's just one of those learned sorts. The kind that have spent too long buried in musty old books."
"Well, what says Xiangling then?" Ying'er challenges. "He spends a fair amount of time at Wanmin, doesn't he? What do you think?"
Deftly chopping up a sprig of spring onion, Xiangling scrapes it off into the wok with a serving of rice, and begins to toss the contents around as she considers her answer.
"For all that he loves to talk about culture and history," she finally settles on saying, "he's actually rather private when it comes to his personal life, so I try not to ask prying questions."
Ying'er folds her arms, pouting.
"Oh, you're no fun," she sighs.
"Mr. Zhongli is Ling'er's new favorite customer," [1] Chef Mao cuts in teasingly. "As long as it isn't seafood, he'll try anything she makes, even the experimental dishes. He's always giving her all sorts of crazy ideas about new ingredients too."
"They aren't crazy, Pa," Xiangling immediately huffs. "The suggestion about the Guyun salt ended up being spot-on, didn't it?"
"I do have to admit," Chef Mao concedes amiably, "his recommendations have all turned out to be solid ones."
"See?" Xiangling prods.
Ying'er rubs thoughtfully at her chin.
"So he doesn't just know about culture and history," she muses. "He can cook as well?"
"Well, that's the noble clan theory out of way then," Su Er'niang says wryly. "Those rich sorts seldom learn to cook."
"A tragically fallen noble clan, Er'niang," Ying'er groans, before continuing with no small amount of theatrics. "Just think about it. The last son of a once-noble clan. He has retained his refined sense of taste, an appreciation for luxury, and a great knowledge of the classics! But alas, the clan fell on hard times, leaving behind a sole heir with no relatives and little to his name."
"If there have been any tragically fallen clans in the past two decades," Su Er'niang deadpans, unimpressed, "I'm sure all of us would have heard of it."
"Well, your theory's out the window as well," Ying'er argues. "You don't pick up cooking from a book."
"Oh, I don't know about that," Chef Mao interjects, amused. "His recommendations have typically come along the lines of—"
Here, he affects a deep, unhurried tone of voice.
"— This dish has traditionally incorporated wild glaze lilies in the distant past, but that fell out of practice after a series of catastrophic floods drove glaze lilies to near extinction."
Returning to his normal tone of voice, he continues, "that certainly sounds like something you could get out of a history book."
"You see—" Su Er'niang begins.
"He's finished his business and is coming this way," Big-Footed Dajiao cuts in suddenly.
That shuts them all up quite effectively.
After a moment, Xiangling sets her spatula down, and leans out over the counter.
Some distance away, she sees Mr. Zhongli ambling peaceably in their direction. Right before he reaches the fork in the road, however, he turns towards the Third Round Knockout instead. He stops there for a moment, trading a few words with someone.
Iron Tongue Tian, Xiangling realizes, as the storyteller leans down from the ledge to clasp Mr. Zhongli gratefully by the elbows.
After a few more seconds of conversation, Mr. Zhongli nods warmly, reaching out on pat Iron Tongue Tian on the shoulder, before he turns, and strolls just as sedately back in the direction of Wangsheng Parlor.
"Did he buy the vase in the end?" Su Er'niang asks, her line of sight blocked from her cart.
There's a moment of silence, the rest of them craning their heads to look.
"Doesn't seem like it," Geri finally says.
"Evidently, the vase wasn't up to his exacting standards," Ying'er sighs.
"Or he's forgotten his wallet again," Chef Mao adds, a little more wryly.
Ying'er gasps, putting a hand over her mouth.
"Is he having financial troubles then?" she stage-whispers. "That would make sense for a tragically fallen—"
"Oh, enough of that, you!" Su Er'niang groans, rolling her eyes. "He always comes back to pick up the bill."
"His eating habits run on the more extravagant side too," Chef Mao adds. "The way he spends— it's like he doesn't notice the number on the bill at all. That's not the behavior of someone who is strapped for cash."
"Never balks," Su Er'niang agrees.
"Never hesitates," Chef Mao continues.
"He's just a little forgetful, that's all!" Xiangling confirms.
Su Er'niang laughs at that.
"Forgetful?" she repeats. "Oh no, he could probably recite the dictionary from cover to cover. Absent-minded is maybe a better description. You know the sort! Those educated ones with their faces buried in books and their heads up in the clouds. Thinking about books even as they walk!"
"He's coming back out of the funeral parlor," Geri observes.
Immediately, everyone goes quiet once more.
"He's heading back towards the store," Su Er'niang says after a moment, on her feet this time, and leaned out as far as she can without tipping over her cart.
Curious despite herself, Xiangling leans out as well, just in time to see the antique seller nodding eagerly. He flashes Mr. Zhongli a wide smile, before he turns, and happily begins to wrap an ornate vase up in packaging paper.
"He came back to buy the vase!" Ying'er gasps.
"What!" Su Er'niang cries. "I've walked past that store! The pricing was exorbitant, I'm telling you! Daylight robbery!"
Chef Mao laughs, shaking his head.
"I told you all," he says jovially. "Price tags don't exist to Mr. Zhongli."
"He's coming this way—"
Su Er'niang immediately plops back into her seat. Ying'er turns just as quickly to face the counter, twirling a lock of hair over one finger. Slower to react, Xiangling ends up catching Mr. Zhongli's gaze, so she offers an awkward wave instead.
"What can I get you today, Mr. Zhongli?" Chef Mao asks, just as Mr. Zhongli draws even with them.
"Hmm," Mr. Zhongli hums, seemingly taking a moment to consider. "For today, let's have the jueyun chili chicken, a serving of crystal shrimp, the crab roe tofu, and a bowl of dragon beard noodles."
Wordlessly, Xiangling begins to fry the green onions for the noodles.
"That's an awful lot of food for one person," Chef Mao remarks, even as he turns to get the chicken out of the chiller.
"I believe Director Hu, Meng, and the Ferrylady have yet to take their lunch," Mr. Zhongli explains solemnly. "They've been hard at work rushing out the preparations for a funeral, so I thought I'd bring lunch back for them."
"I see you bought a new vase as well," Chef Mao observes, retrieving the chicken from the chiller, and beginning to package it for take-away.
"Ah," Mr. Zhongli says, expression brightening slightly. "An artisan item of exquisite quality. Such lacquerware is no longer commonly produced, and this one uses a technique that has not been seen in two centuries. Egg shells are pounded and lacquered onto the vase along with gold leaf and paint—" [2]
As Mr. Zhongli commences a detailed explanation of the technique in question, Xiangling spoons the soup and noodles out over the fried onions, and turns around to start packaging the crystal shrimp, leaving the noodles to soften. She keeps one ear perked, however, listening as Mr. Zhongli continues in that unhurried way of his— clear and steady in tone, yet gentle and always so calm in demeanor.
"The seller truly had no idea what he was carrying," Mr. Zhongli concludes, with a sigh and a shake of his head, just as Xiangling begins ladling the noodles into a takeaway packet, and Chef Mao finishes frying the tofu. "I was sure to explain the process to him quite thoroughly, so he may better market his wares in the future."
"Sounds like quite the steal," Chef Mao comments.
"This vase in particular was valued far below what I thought it was worth," Mr. Zhongli agrees. "And that's why I insisted that the seller take the fair value of the item, instead of what was on the price tag."
Behind them, Su Er'niang chokes, and immediately begins to hack up a lung.
"Are you quite alright, Miss Su?" Mr. Zhongli asks.
"Fine," Su Er'niang manages hoarsely. "Do go on."
"In any case," Mr. Zhongli continues, "it would certainly be nice to see greater knowledge and appreciation of this sort of artisan craft. Perhaps then, we may begin to see a revival of these rare and exquisite techniques."
"Indeed," Chef Mao says, turning around with the crab roe tofu finally packaged and ready. "And here is your order."
Waiting on the counter, four packets of varying sizes are piled one on top of the other. Chef Mao stops to consider the stack as Xiangling bites her lip, eyes darting between the packages, and the vase tucked under Mr. Zhongli's right arm.
"Ling'er can help you bring the food back to Wangsheng," Chef Mao decides after a moment.
"No need for that," Mr. Zhongli says, smiling. "It is only a short walk."
Bending his knees slightly, he places the vase down on the ground, before beginning to stack the food packages in the crook of his left arm. That done, he bends his knees again, picks the vase back up, and with a deft twist of elbow, manages to tuck it back under his right arm.
"There we go," he says calmly.
"Mr. Zhongli—" Xiangling begins in a small voice.
Before she can finish voicing her concerns, however, Mr. Zhongli turns, and begins walking back in the direction of Wangsheng Parlor, unheeding of the precariously tall stack of packages balanced on his left arm.
"My friend," he greets, as he passes the Third Round Knockout. "Looks like you've garnered quite the crowd while I was gone."
Iron Tongue Tian offers a reply that Xiangling doesn't hear. With a warm laugh, Mr. Zhongli just nods, and continues walking sedately on, calling out a gentle greeting to the vase seller as he goes.
Somehow, the packages do not even wobble.
Once he has crossed the bridge, and disappeared back into Wangsheng Parlor, there is a long moment of silence, before Ying'er speaks again.
"Mr. Zhongli," she says matter-of-factly, "is very strange."
"Oh, he's an odd one for sure!" Xinyan agrees easily, the next time she and Yun Jin stop by Wanmin.
As Xinyan takes her first, hearty bite, Xiangling perches herself on the edge of the table. Beside Xinyan, Yun Jin is already dabbing at her mouth with a handkerchief.
"Mr. Zhongli's suggestion for this new dish is sound," Yun Jin praises gracefully. "It definitely tastes fuller and richer than your last version of it."
"This is great!" Xinyan agrees enthusiastically, voice slightly muffled behind her mouthful of food. "But is it really alright that we're eating for free?"
"Food-tasting privileges," Xiangling reassures her, and huffs. "Xingqiu and Chongyun always run so quickly whenever I'm looking for tasters. Aside from you and Beidou-dajie, only Mr. Zhongli is willing to try my experimental dishes!"
"He's an exceedingly knowledgeable gentleman," Yun Jin comments. "The opera troupe has many traditions, but while I'm well-versed in knowing what those traditions are, I can't say I know much of their history and origins. Mr. Zhongli, on the other hand, is always able to explain when and where these traditions came from."
She smiles warmly as she picks her spoon back up, her eyes growing fond.
"I'm always excited to see him in the audience," she confesses. "I feel that he truly understands and appreciates my music. What artist wouldn't be delighted to have such a connoisseur in their audience?"
"That's how I feel too, Yun-jie!" Xiangling gasps. "Not everyone appreciates food the way he does!"
Finally swallowing her first mouthful, Xinyan sets her chopsticks down with a contented sigh.
"He is surprisingly open-minded for a guy who looks so solemn," she agrees amicably. "But for all that he is knowledgeable, he's definitely a bit of an oddball."
Xiangling tilts her head, slightly perplexed by the out-of-context comment. When she looks to Yun Jin, however, Yun Jin looks equally baffled, so after trading a brief glance, they turn to look back at Xinyan instead.
Xinyan sighs a little at their questioning looks, and leans in, beckoning them closer.
"He invited me to perform once, did I ever mention?" she confides. "But when I showed up, I found out that he'd paid me to play for a funeral!"
She makes a bewildered expression, scratching at the back of her head.
"Surely my style of music is not suitable for funerals?" she asks confusedly.
"It's not just history, culture, and food," Yanfei chimes in on the matter, the next time they run into each other at Yujing Terrace. "He knows the law from front to end as well!"
A short distance away, Shifu is watering her glaze lilies, deep in conversation with Lady Ganyu. The conversation does not look like it'll be ending anytime soon, so after a moment, Xiangling just shrugs, and turns back to Yanfei.
"The law?" she repeats curiously. "How did that even come up in conversation?"
"He was here the last time I was visiting Madam Ping!" Yanfei explains. "We were making small talk about the reopening of the Bishui trade route. I had vaguely recalled the existence of an old law on alcohol imports, which would definitely affect trade with Mondstadt, and had just been about to consult my legal codex for the exact wording, when he recited it— word for word too!"
She gives said legal codex a pat, before tucking it under her arm again.
"I was already pretty taken back at that point," she admits. "Then, he went on to cite a really obscure concessionary contract that had been signed between the Qixing and the Dawn Winery not long after the law went into force. Did I mention that he cited that word for word as well? Truly uncanny."
"Mr. Zhongli does have a rather uncanny memory," Xiangling admits. "Pa always says that he doesn't see the numbers on his bills, but when he forgets his wallet, he's always able to recall just how much he owes when he comes back to pay it off, even down to the cent."
Sitting quietly by the pavement, Yaoyao finally adds her piece, not looking up from where she's playing in the grass.
"Shifu told me that he's a trustworthy gentleman," she says, dancing Yuegui over the ground with both hands. "I ran into him once while coming down from Jueyun Karst, and he insisted on walking me back into the harbor. I was a little worried at first, but he brought me straight to Shifu, and afterwards, Shifu said that if I ever ran into him again, it would be okay to follow him."
"Mr. Zhongli is a trustworthy adult, shimei," Xiangling immediately vouches. "If you ever run into him outside while you're in trouble, you can definitely ask him for help!"
"He seemed nice," Yaoyao agrees.
Yanfei, on the other hand, has begun to look pensive.
"So that's what Madam Ping had to say, huh?" she muses quietly to herself. "Come to think of it, when I first met Mr. Zhongli, I couldn't help but feel as if I knew him from somewhere. That wouldn't be too strange in and of itself, but when I mentioned it to my dad later on, he suddenly got all weird and evasive!"
She narrows her eyes, rubbing thoughtfully at her chin.
"Just who is Mr. Zhongli anyway?" she wonders.
"An interesting guy, that's for sure!" Beidou booms with a merry laugh, when the Crux fleet next docks at the harbor. "I've yet to meet him in person, but I've certainly heard plenty of rumors! Say, won't you introduce us some time? He seems immensely popular, and I hear he's become your new favorite customer!"
Xiangling blinks as she's jostled affectionately against Beidou's voluptuous side.
"Wait, how did you even hear about that?" she asks, confused.
"About him being your new favorite customer?" Beidou teases, and lets out another booming laugh. "Well, I heard it from the men, of course! They heard it from Wrench Wang, who fixes the boats down at the docks, who heard it from Uncle Gao, the fishmonger, who heard it from Iron Tongue Tian, over at the Third Round Knockout, who swears up and down that he overheard it from your Pa! Wrench also said that Big-Footed Dajiao was there when your Pa said it, and he confirmed that he heard it too!"
Xiangling blinks again.
"This entire harbor is a hive of incorrigible gossips," she realizes, with a growing sense of dismay.
After a moment, Beidou claps a hand comfortingly around her shoulder, seeming to sense some part of her dismay. The impact rattles Xiangling down to her very bones.
"And so is the fleet!" Beidou cries in hearty agreement.
It's a bright and windy afternoon when Xiangling next heads down to the wharf. The skies are clear today, cornflower blue for as far as the eye can see, with nary a cloud in the sky. Out over the waters, the surface of the sea ripples gently in the sea breeze, the wind bringing with it the smell of salt and, here on the wharf at least, also the distinctively fishy smell of uncooked seafood.
"Miss Xiangling!" Uncle Sun greets warmly. "What can I get you today?"
"Just the usual order!" Xiangling chirps, handing over a slip of paper. "Could you have it sent over to Wanmin again?"
As Uncle Sun scans the order slip, Xiangling turns to smile at Madam Siyu, standing in front of the display as usual. She's too busy counting quietly under her breath to notice, however, so after a moment, Xiangling just turns away, knowing by now that greeting her will only make her lose count.
"The usual order then," Uncle Sun mutters, and looks up from the order slip with a smile. "I'll have the fish delivered tomorrow."
"Thanks, Uncle Sun!" Xiangling chimes with a grin.
As she turns to make her way back towards Wanmin, however, Uncle Sun reaches out, touching her elbow lightly.
"Miss Xiangling, wait!" he calls, and clears his throat sheepishly. "Could I have a word?"
Surprised, Xiangling turns back around. After a moment, Uncle Sun clears his throat again, beckoning her a little closer.
"It's about Mr. Zhongli, you see," he says, more quietly, as Xiangling steps closer. "I heard from Uncle Gao, who heard from Iron Tongue Tian—"
Xiangling slumps, knowing immediately what this is about.
"—who swears up and down he heard it from my Pa—" she parrots defeatedly.
"—and of course," Uncle Sun continues, "one should not easily believe hearsay, but I also heard from Wrench Wang down at the docks—"
"—that Big-Footed Dajiao was there and heard it too," Xiangling finishes, resigned. "I know. I heard it from Beidou-dajie."
"Well," Uncle Sun says, and lets out an embarrassed-sounding cough. "Since you already know what I'm talking about, I'll just cut straight to the point. We're all neighbors here. I've known you since you were a little girl, Miss Xiangling, and… I just wanted to tell you to be careful around Mr. Zhongli."
"Careful?" Xiangling repeats, confused.
Uncle Sun leans in, lowering his voice.
"Mr. Zhongli is greatly respected by many people right now," he murmurs, "but I think it won't be long until he's revealed to have some kind of dark past."
Xiangling is struck speechless.
After a moment, Madam Siyu groans loudly from beside them, and finally looks up from her counting.
"Is Uncle Gao still going on about that?" she asks wryly, gesturing in the direction of Uncle Gao's fish stand with a roll of her eyes. "Did you hear it from him at the Third Round Knockout? You should know better than to go repeating his drunken conspiracy theories to the children!"
"Madam Siyu," Uncle Sun hisses. "Please keep your voice down!"
He looks briefly over his shoulder, before turning back to them.
"I think Old Gao's suspicions have some merit," he says quietly. "After all, doesn't Mr. Zhongli have ties with the Fatui?"
"And where did you hear that from?" Madam Siyu scoffs, crossing her arms. "Did you get that from Uncle Gao too?"
Uncle Sun goes a little red.
"Well," he defends, embarrassed, "Mr. Zhongli frequents the Third Round Knockout fairly often, and I've heard him greeting the bank staff by name! He knows all their names!"
"He knows everyone's names, Uncle Sun," Madam Siyu groans. "He greets even my husband by name and asks him how is Madam Siyu faring! when I've met him all of one time! I'm here everyday. Do you know my husband's name?"
"No," Uncle Sun admits, "but isn't it suspicious that Mr. Zhongli knows both your names when—"
Madam Siyu looks up towards the heavens.
"Oh, for Rex Lapis' sake, Uncle Sun!" she shouts frustratedly.
Behind them, the rest of the people on the wharf turn around, surprised by the loud cry.
"Is something the matter, Siyu dear?" Aunt Zhang calls from Uncle Gao's stand.
"What else!" Madam Siyu snipes, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "Uncle Gao's conspiracy theories are wracking the harbor again!"
"How did I get pulled into this?" Uncle Gao demands incredulously.
"Is there someone else here spouting nonsense about honest members of our community?" Madam Siyu shoots back.
Uncle Sun raises his hands placatingly.
"Now, now, I was just trying to speak with Miss Xiangling about Mr. Zhongli, and Madam Siyu took exception," he explains, and waves Uncle Gao off. "Don't worry, I'll speak with the madam."
He lowers his voice, leaning back in.
"Madam, please," he murmurs.
But Uncle Gao and Aunt Zhang are already coming over— Aunt Zhang looking curious, and Uncle Gao looking extremely ticked off.
"Mr. Zhongli?" Uncle Gao asks, hands on his hips. "Hasn't he always been weirdly chummy with the Fatui? Business meetings and all at Liuli Pavillion, Xinyue Kiosk— Wanmin too." He raises an eyebrow. "Now, would Miss Xiangling happen to know anything about that?"
As Xiangling stiffens, shocked to be so suddenly dragged into the argument, Aunt Zhang lets out a disapproving hiss.
"Come now," Aunt Zhang chides. "We don't involve the children in such gossip."
"Well, hasn't he been having those business lunches at Wanmin?" Uncle Gao challenges.
He does not look away from Xiangling, and after a moment, the others turn to Xiangling as well, looking curious despite themselves.
"I—" Xiangling begins, surprised, before she clears her throat nervously. "It was my understanding that Wangsheng Parlor had a long-standing business relationship with the Northland Bank."
"Where did you hear that from?" Uncle Sun gasps.
Xiangling rocks back on her heels, taken aback at his fierce tone of voice.
"I— I heard it from one of the waitstaff," she stutters, "who— heard it from a customer and—"
"Which customer?!" Uncle Gao demands.
"I don't know!" Xiangling yelps, raising her hands defensively. "I don't remember!"
"Oh, stop it, you two!" Aunt Zhang snaps. "You're scaring her!"
She turns to Xiangling.
"Xiangling, darling," she scolds gently, "you mustn't go repeating unverified rumors to other people, alright? Don't be afraid, sweetheart. Uncle Sun is just being overly suspicious."
"Overly suspicious?" Uncle Sun hisses. "Does that not sound suspicious to you!? Why does the bank have a long-standing relationship with a funeral parlor?!"
"And now I suppose you'll say that Mr. Zhongli is covering up Fatui murders," Madam Siyu says sarcastically, rolling her eyes.
"He's the one always having business meetings with them," Uncle Sun argues.
"And he's friends with that Harbinger guy!" Uncle Gao says loudly. "The one who assassinated Rex Lapis!"
Cries of shock and horror echo around them. When Xiangling turns around, the rest of the people on the wharf have turned to look at them. Even the people walking past the wharf have stopped, wearing scandalized expressions.
"Our Lord has only just left us," Qiming says disapprovingly from across the wharf, "and you're already spreading lies about his passing?"
"Rex Lapis, bless his old soul, fell in a divine trial and has moved on to a better place," Linling agrees from the stairs overlooking the dock.
"The mighty Rex Lapis?" Uncle Gao demands. "Fallen in a divine trial?! Who would believe that!"
"Then are you suggesting he was murdered by a mere human?!" Qiming shoots back incredulously.
"I'm just saying that the Harbinger—" Uncle Sun begins.
"He was the one who summoned Osial, wasn't he?!" Uncle Gao interrupts furiously. "Someone capable of unsealing an ancient god, wouldn't it be possible that—"
"That's just speculation—"
"Oh, just stop with the conspiracy theories!" Madam Siyu shouts. "Don't think we don't remember the last time your speculations—"
Xiangling stands still and silent as stone as the wharf dissolves into incoherent shouting around her.
It feels strangely like she's been plunged underwater, the sounds coming to her muted, as if from somewhere far away. In almost slow motion, the adults around her point and jab viciously at each other, their voices clashing and overlapping beyond recognition.
"What's going on here?" a lone voice eventually breaks through the shouting, like a knife through the air— quiet, yet strangely chilling.
Xiangling raises her head. Standing on the stone steps leading up into the warehouse, Lady Keqing is looking down at them with an expression that can only be described as thunderous.
The argument dies down immediately.
After a short moment, Lady Keqing sighs incredulously, and begins to descend the stone steps towards them.
"Rex Lapis," she begins sternly, "passed in a divine trial. This is something the Qixing has made clear repeatedly, and on the topic of Wangsheng Parlor—"
She pauses to draw a frustrated breath.
"For the last time," she grits out, "no, Wangsheng Parlor is not complicit in murder and assassination. The Qixing has already investigated, and the bodies they've been burying for the Fatui are bodies of Fatui who died in the line of duty!"
She folds her arms as she reaches the bottom of the stairs.
"Did everyone really think that the Qixing would allow anyone, let alone the Fatui, commit unchecked murder in this harbor?" she demands. "Of course we investigated!"
Her statement is met with only silence.
Lady Keqing looks slowly at each of them, before narrowing her eyes.
"Quit it with the rumors," she says.
Finally, she turns to walk away. But before she can take her first step, she stops, hesitating for a moment before turning back around.
"It's one thing to spread false rumors about your neighbors," she adds in a low voice, "but it's something else entirely to spread false rumors about your god."
She pauses to let that sink in, before continuing. "Have some respect."
And with that, she finally turns to leave.
Amidst the muttering that starts up after her departure, there's a quiet clink of something hitting the floor. When Xiangling looks down, the flower pendant that Lady Keqing typically wears at her waist is lying on the pavement. Upon closer inspection, it is made of white jade, clearly expensive, so Xiangling quickly darts forward to pick it up.
"Oh, for shame," Madam Siyu is sighing. "It's truly a sad day when Lady Keqing of all people has to be the voice of reason on this subject."
The rest of the crowd has already begun to disperse, muttering and sighing with a distinct air of chastisement, so after a moment, Xiangling quickly makes to chase after Lady Keqing. She jerks with alarm, whipping around with wide eyes, as someone grips her elbow.
It is Uncle Sun.
Uncle Sun winces as Xiangling instinctively flinches from his grasp.
"I'm sorry for getting you caught up in that ugly argument," he says regretfully. "Aunt Zhang was right. We shouldn't pull the children into our gossiping."
He clears his throat.
"But that said," he continues firmly. "What I said about Mr. Zhongli still stands. That Fatui Harbinger is back in town, Miss Xiangling, and everyone with eyes saw Mr. Zhongli drinking with him at the Third Round Knockout yesterday."
He purses his lips.
"Be careful," he concludes. "I don't wish to see any harm come to you."
Xiangling just nods tersely, so after a moment, he lets her go with a quiet sigh.
"Alright," he murmurs. "I won't keep you any longer."
Without another word, Xiangling turns, and begins to run after Lady Keqing. She's running so quickly that as she turns the corner around the blacksmith's forge, she runs right into Lady Keqing's back. Lady Keqing lets out a yelp, but thankfully does not fall.
"Miss Xiangling," she says, frown easing in recognition as she turns around.
"I'm so sorry!" Xiangling cries. "It's just— you dropped this, Lady Keqing."
She holds the pendant out.
"Ah," Lady Keqing says, looking down at the spot where she typically wears the pendant, and finding it indeed missing. After a moment, she reaches out to take it from Xiangling. "Thank you for returning it, Miss Xiangling."
"It's no problem," Xiangling mumbles, looking down at her feet as she clears her throat. "I just wanted to say thank you as well, for clearing things up about Wangsheng Parlor."
At that, Lady Keqing lets out a sigh, rubbing briefly at the bridge of her nose.
"Just between us," she says, a little tiredly, "Mr. Zhongli was once extremely kind to me. I trust you recall the night before the Rite of Parting? A couple of people got together to fund the materials, and Granny Shan made a large lantern in Dijun's image? They released it at the wharf."
It feels like a lump rises suddenly to Xiangling's throat.
"I remember," she says hoarsely.
Lady Keqing's cheeks turn faintly pink.
"Well, it's a little embarrassing," she says, with a quiet cough, "but I got fairly teary watching that, and left the harbor so no one would see, except Mr. Zhongli spotted me while coming back into the harbor from somewhere else. And well—"
The flush deepens into a full-on blush.
"I ended up crying all over him," she admits in a mumble. "I knew he was new to Liyue Harbor and so in my eyes, he wouldn't know me as the Rex Lapis opposer. That said, I admit I had always thought him to be one of those Rex Lapis traditionalists, set in his ways, so I never tried to be too close or friendly with him. Despite my strictly professional treatment of him, however, he was extremely, extremely kind to me that night— much kinder than he really needed to be."
She crosses her arms.
"So I personally find it hard to believe he has bad intentions or a dark past," she declares stubbornly. "I hate that he's been linked up with Childe and the Osial incident when honestly— I think he's just being way too kind to Childe!" She pauses for a moment, before continuing more quietly. "Just as he was way too kind with me."
Finally, she clears her throat, straightening to her full height.
"Thank you for returning my pendant," she says, more formally now. "Have a good day, Miss Xiangling."
And then, with a final nod, she turns around stiffly, and heads back off in the direction of the Ministry of Civil Affairs, still red from embarrassment.
Alone now, Xiangling stands where she's been left for a good long while.
Above her, she can hear Master Zhang hammering away at his forge, but otherwise, the streets are empty at this time of day. In front of her, it's not too long before Lady Keqing takes a right turn up ahead, disappearing up the stairs towards the teahouse, and leaving the entire stretch of road empty.
After a long moment, Xiangling unclenches her fists, having not realized that they'd been clenched to begin with. The skin of her palms feel clammy and sweaty, her fingers trembling oddly. After another moment, she begins to walk again, heading somewhat numbly in the direction of Wanmin. The pavement veers oddly beneath her, before beginning to blur. Her footsteps pick up, faster and faster, until she's jogging, then running at full tilt through the empty streets.
She sprints past Wanmin, but her father must not have seen her, because he does not call out. She continues to run, directionless and without a destination in mind, until just past the Ministry of Civil Affairs, she runs right into someone's rock-hard chest.
The person grabs her by the forearm, steadying her before she can fly back from the collision. Nevertheless, the impact leaves her stunned and reeling, blinking dazedly through the wetness in her eyes.
"Miss Xiangling?" Mr. Zhongli says, his bewildered and concerned face swimming into focus before her. "Is something the matter? Why were you running?"
Xiangling bursts into tears.
Through the flood of disconsolate sobbing, she half-registers a cool hand closing around her elbow, leading her gently off to the side. Even so, it takes her a few more seconds after that to compose herself enough to speak. When she finally draws her arm over her face and looks up again, she and Mr. Zhongli are standing in the alcove just beside Wanwen Bookhouse, more hidden from view here than from the pavement.
"Sorry," she says sheepishly. "That was really embarrassing."
"You have nothing to be embarrassed about," Mr. Zhongli says firmly, before his expression softens with concern. "Did something happen?"
Xiangling thinks back to the argument on the wharf, and suddenly— a burst of anxiety and shame fills her chest.
"If it's okay," she says in a small voice, "I would rather not talk about it."
"That's fine," Mr. Zhongli says immediately. "You don't have to tell me anything. But of course, if there's something I can do to help, I do hope you'll let me know."
She nods, wiping the last of the tears from her face, and after a moment, Mr. Zhongli reaches into the bag he's holding, taking out a takeaway packet.
"If you're feeling stressed and emotional," he says seriously, "you should have something cooling to drink."
He passes her the packet. Their hands touch briefly as she takes it from him. His skin is slightly cool to the touch, but his palms are dry and his touch firm.
It's strangely comforting.
As he sits down on the stone ledge surrounding the alcove, she looks down at the packet, and realizes that it's a takeaway packet of jade fruit soup.
"Is it really okay for me to have this?" she asks.
"I'll feel better if you have it," Mr. Zhongli says firmly, handing her a spoon out of the bag.
After a moment, she heaves herself up onto the ledge beside him, opens the packet, and begins to eat. Mr. Zhongli reaches into the bag and retrieves a second packet for himself.
"Because Director Hu is a pyro user," he explains, opening his own packet, "I try to get her to eat more cooling things for her own health."
As he takes his first spoon of the soup, Xiangling swallows the bite of pear she had been chewing, and looks up.
"Is that really how it works?" she asks curiously. "Do pyro users really have a hotter constitution?" [3]
Perhaps she should eat more cooling things as well, she reflects to herself. Maybe then she'll be less prone to emotional outbursts.
Mr. Zhongli pauses for a moment.
"Well," he finally says, "it's not necessarily the case." He clears his throat. "But when I was younger, I had a friend who would often make this soup. So every once in a while, I find myself wishing to taste the soup again, and when that happens, I walk down to get some from Bubu pharmacy. I usually get a second serving for Director Hu while I'm there."
After a moment, he sets the spoon down into the bowl, and sighs.
"It's a pity though," he says, "but Bubu Pharmacy doesn't make it quite like I remember. Perhaps it's because they make it purely for medicinal purposes. I find the flavor to be a little lacking."
Xiangling pauses with her spoon in her mouth, and then takes a second to consider the flavor. It doesn't taste too bad for jade fruit soup. It's just alright.
"Mr. Zhongli's friend must have made some really good jade fruit soup then," she finally says. "This jade fruit soup isn't all that bad."
Mr. Zhongli lets out a surprised laugh.
"Is that so?" he asks, and chuckles. "Perhaps it's because she made the soup with different ingredients. She tended to pick flowers and herbs from around Jueyun Karst, you see, so the violetgrass and qingxin she used in her soup came from those cliffs."
He looks down into his soup, eyes growing faintly wistful.
"These days, most no longer dare to venture up into Jueyun Karst," he continues quietly, "so recipes use flowers picked from Minlin or Wuwang instead. But since the flowers on Jueyun Karst grow at higher altitudes, they are a different strain than the ones found elsewhere. The qingxin that grows on Jueyun Karst taste sweeter and fresher. Meanwhile, the violetgrass has a distinctive flavor that subtly differentiates it from those found at lower elevations."
After a moment, he picks his spoon back up.
"Or perhaps it is sentiment alone that flavors that memory," he admits. "Perhaps it does not objectively taste much better than this."
As he takes another spoonful of the soup, Xiangling considers his words. She can admit to herself that she's extremely curious to experience the taste for herself now, to see for herself if it's truly much better. More than that, however, she's also endlessly curious about how the different ingredients will affect other dishes.
Would the qingxin growing atop Jueyun Karst offer a more vibrant sweetness to Tianshu Meat? Could it replace the sugar in the recipe?
How would Jueyun violetgrass affect the taste of her signature Black-Back Perch Stew?
She can't help but grow more excited the longer she thinks about it.
"Jueyun Karst will be the location of my next expedition then!" she decides.
The motion of Mr. Zhongli spoon stills. He blinks several times, as if this outcome had not occurred to him at all, before he turns slowly to look at Xiangling.
"Miss Xiangling," he finally says. "I believe that procuring these flowers might prove to be rather perilous. There's a reason why they are seldom collected as ingredients. The violetgrass, in particular, grows on cliffsides. It will be dangerous."
"I've been on all sorts of dangerous expeditions!" Xiangling says confidently. "I tend to get into a fair bit of trouble looking for ingredients, so I'll probably be fine. I have a vision after all!"
Mr. Zhongli hesitates, still looking a little concerned, so after a moment, Xiangling coughs, lowering her gaze.
"I think I'd like to get out of the harbor for a bit as well," she admits.
Mr. Zhongli's gaze softens, and he nods.
"Alright then," he says solemnly. "Since the herbs may be difficult to find without direction, and the trip, as I've said, may in fact be rather dangerous, I do believe I should bear some responsibility. I was the one to give you the idea, so I hope you will allow me to accompany you on your journey."
Xiangling blinks at that, more than a little surprised at the offer.
"Is that really okay?" she blurts out.
"It is," Mr. Zhongli insists, and smiles. "In any case, Director Hu has been trying to persuade me to take my annual leave. She claims that she does not wish for the Ministry of Civil Affairs to think that she's flouting labor regulations, but…"
He sighs, massaging the space between his brows.
"To be perfectly frank," he continues tiredly, "I suspect she is trying to get me out of the parlor so she can plan some kind of absurd marketing campaign. Meng and the Ferrylady find it hard to say no to her."
"Is it really okay if you leave then?" Xiangling asks, alarmed, but Mr. Zhongli just smiles wryly.
"Director Hu," he says, "will have to live with the consequences of her own actions."
With that, he turns to face Xiangling fully.
"Besides," he says, "if she doesn't get to act out once every few weeks, she tends to get a bit restless. If I request three days leave for the end of the week, I'm sure Director Hu will be more than happy to see me out of the harbor for the week, and the weekend."
Xiangling eases a little.
"Well," she says, "if you're sure it'll be alright."
"I'm sure," Mr. Zhongli confirms.
With that reassurance, Xiangling can't help but feel excitement growing in her again. She doesn't often bring people along for her expeditions, but when she has, she has always appreciated the company. Being out alone in the wilderness can be lonely at times. Her last trip with the Traveller had been great. Xingqiu and Chongyun, while unnecessarily wary of her cooking during their expeditions, are usually good company as well.
And as for Mr. Zhongli…
Five days is plenty of time to pick that massive brain of his! She's sure that there's a whole plethora of obscure little facts she can mine from him during that time.
She happily clips the lid back over her empty packet of soup.
"At the end of the week then!" she chirps, as she stands.
Mr. Zhongli smiles.
"It's good to see you looking so cheerful again, Miss Xiangling," he says warmly, and then nods. "At the end of the week."
Xiangling grins widely, before reaching out to take his empty packet as well.
"I'll help you toss that at Wanmin," she says. "Have a good day at work, Mr. Zhongli!"
With a quiet chuckle, he surrenders the packet to her. She tucks it under her arm, offering a final wave, before beginning to head back towards Wanmin with a spring in her step.
So perhaps Mr. Zhongli is a little strange, she reflects fondly as she goes.
After a moment, she looks back over her shoulder. Mr. Zhongli is standing where she left him, hands folded together elegantly in front of him, and watching her go with gentle eyes. She flashes another grin, before turning back to continue on her way.
But he's also, she can't help but think to herself— very, very nice.