If anyone's keeping track of the weirdly fast updates it's because the first seven chapters are already done and I'm just posting them after editing. Will slow down when I get to chapter 8.
‘Is doing this at night really necessary?’
‘Doesn’t make any difference to me,’ says Childe, then breaks down into quiet snickering.
No one pays him any attention, choosing instead to focus on the treacherous climb. With the help of Zhongli’s torch and the star-filled night sky, their way forwards is at the very least possible.
At the entrance to the mine, Zhongli checks his companions. Bar Yelan, everyone else is here, even Ganyu despite his attempts to get her to rest.
She had only shrugged at that suggestion, dusting off her warbow and giving the string an experimental tug. ‘I do not yearn for them, but the old days… their simplicity… let me relive them, just once.’
He obliged, and he wonders now if he should have pushed harder as Ganyu leans against a beam and begins to snore. Beidou pokes her awake, her face unreadable in the faint light of the torch.
‘Hey. What happened to the other lady you said was coming? Got lost?’ she says, more to Childe than anyone. Childe shrugs.
‘Shame,’ says Beidou. ‘I was looking forward to meeting her. Let’s go.’
‘Wait up,’ says a voice from above them. Her feet barely making a sound, Yelan drops from a ledge above, a bow slung over her shoulder. Beidou raises an eyebrow.
‘You’re going to fight with that?’
‘I could say the same about your sword.’ She nods at the great sword slung across Beidou’s back. The captain pats her belt, where a pair of revolvers hang.
‘The sword’s for backup. Besides, using a ranged weapon with this kind of depth perception—‘ She points to her eye. ‘Not good for my allies.’
‘That makes two of us,’ Childe pipes up. The others ignore him.
‘That’s all of us.’ Yelan unhooks her bow from her shoulder and uses it to poke Ganyu in the arm. The secretary wakes up with a startled noise, but retains her composure quickly enough. ‘Zhongli-xiansheng?’
Zhongli draws in a deep breath, letting the air sting his lungs. That seems to release the hold of this oppressive silence on his ears. He checks his bag for the fourth time that night, mind running through the contents of his will, now resting on Director Hu’s desk.
He’s made it this far.
‘Let us proceed.’
He is the first one to step foot into the mine, a renewed resolution steadying his stride.
~~~
Their first problem comes in the form of a smell.
Childe is the first one to sense it, his head lifted as he sniffs the air. ‘Does this place smell worse than last time?’
The inside of a mine has never smelled the best, but aside from the stagnant air, there is a second, more acrid smell. If he had to compare it, Zhongli would say that it was not unlike the time Hu Tao somehow burned an entire pot of chicken soup. No, that wasn’t it. No kind of food, no matter how badly burned, scorches the insides of your nostrils with that acid stench.
Zhongli holds his torch higher, the beam spilling across smooth rock and the remnants of wooden supports. Before he can marvel again at the surprisingly well-preserved state of this place, a movement catches his eye.
It came from around the corner, and if he’s not mistaken, it’s emitting a faint golden glow. Zhongli shuts off his torch, not wanting to draw too much attention to themselves.
His companions, to their credit, have already leapt into a fighting stance: Ganyu and Yelan with their bows, Beidou and her drawn greatsword, Childe’s twin blades already snapped apart.
In the dim light, he can barely make out Ganyu’s frantic beckoning, signalling for him to get to the back of the group. He obliges, moving as slowly and quietly as possible, keeping an eye on the ever-brightening glow around the corner.
As soon as he’s out of the way, his companions pounce.
‘Go!’ yells someone—probably Beidou. Zhongli dodges around the flurry of blades and the explosions of ice—Ganyu’s power unsealed for the first time in centuries. When bright blue threads wrap themselves around the struggling, screaming creature, Zhongli manages to catch a glimpse of its stone hide and spiked tail.
He only recognises it as a geovishap because of the way it moves, lizard-like, whipping its armoured head from side to side to try and snap at its attackers. In the dim light of the torch, the tough scales covering most of its head look terribly like bone. No, it is bone, he sees now that he’s forced to run past it: the ribs that grow out of its chest and curl downwards to protect its belly indicate that the same thing has happened to its skull.
He fights the wave of nausea that comes with the smell and continues running, the creature’s roars too loud in the cramped tunnels. With fumbling hands, he manages to get his torch back up, and slight relief surges through him when he hears pattering footsteps behind him.
‘They’ve got it covered,’ says Childe. ‘Are we close?’
Zhongli maps out the route in his mind. This should be the last stretch, an unnaturally long corridor that he’s not fond of. He speeds up, expecting Childe to mirror him, but the man screeches to a stop, blades held up.
‘There’s more than one,’ he says.
And then the tunnel collapses. There’s a scream of pain—Childe—and then all that remains of him is a shock of ginger hair, the rest crushed underneath the haunches of another geovishap, its sickening glow filling the entire corridor.
Somehow, miraculously, Childe manages to croak, ‘Go—I can still fight.’
His unpinned arm, holding resolutely on to his blade, stabs up with incredible precision, finding a chink in the creature’s rock armour. It screeches, staggering backwards in surprise, front limbs poised for another attack, but Zhongli is already off.
Turn, turn, turn again. The sounds of Childe’s struggle fades away, replaced by a heavy silence, not unlike a blanket on a hot summer’s day. Suddenly all too aware of the way he’s panting, Zhongli tugs a stick of incense from his bag, lighting it with shaking hands.
Holding it up to his face, as if its power could stand a chance, Zhongli turns the last corner.
~~~
The corruption runs deep, chaining this rotting—reforming—corpse to the ground. He works with a silent fury, drawing chalk lines around its form, sticking incense sticks into cracks in the ground.
If the situation had allowed it, he would have brought censers, flowers, a piece of jade, but this funeral is doomed to be quiet. He reaches for his hair tie, crafted from the finest cor lapis in the land, and sets it down.
When he is ready, he looks into its decaying eyes.
The world takes a deep breath, then collapses.
~~~
There is less corruption he has to push through this time, the little that remains giving way easily underneath firm hands. Even the brutal cold steps aside; it is still not welcoming, but at least has the facsimile of friendliness.
Azhdaha speaks first.
‘What a curious form you’ve chosen to take.’
‘It was what remained after I changed.’
‘Sealing away your power like this… one would think that you weren’t interested in protecting your city. But no matter.’
They don’t have much time.
As always, Azhdaha breaks the silence. ‘I don’t blame you.’
For the first time, something in Zhongli breaks.
‘I—I should have fought harder. There was so much that I could still do for you.’
‘But you chose this path anyway.’
‘…I abandoned you.’
‘Your duty required you to put your people first.’
‘My duty is done. Let me grieve.’
‘You’ve changed so much. How many years has it been?’
‘…’
‘Oh, how time flies. To think that it took me so long to gather enough strength just to speak to you…’
‘Is it possible that you could return, given enough time?’
‘I do not wish to burden your people anymore. Those three miners… if I had any other choice, I would have taken another path to get a message to you. Besides, you know how easily my mind breaks.’
‘…’
‘In another lifetime, perhaps.’
‘Farewell, old friend.’
‘Farewell. See to it that I become your final regret.’
Zhongli finds the string connecting them, ephemeral and slippery in his grip. Closing his eyes, he tugs with all his strength.
The string snaps.
~~~
‘Took you long enough.’
The familiarity of the voice shocks him out of his reverie on the ground. Scrambling to his feet, Zhongli switches on his torch. Childe is standing before him, streaks of blood on his face, his right jacket arm torn to shreds, but otherwise unharmed.
‘You were remarkably lucky to survive that attack.’
He saw it with his own eyes, heard the sickening crunch of bone as the geovishap landed on top of him. Childe shrugs.
‘I’m stronger than I look. Come on. Let’s get this over with.’
His hands never leave his pockets. Zhongli checks over his chalk drawings one last time before reaching for his bag.
Something heavy drops to the bottom of his stomach when he can’t find the lighter, buried underneath incense sticks and chalk. He doubles down, searching with a new sort of ferocity, when Childe taps him on the shoulder.
‘You can keep this one. I have plenty.’
Zhongli takes the offered lighter. Hand steady, he bends down and presses the flame to the very edge of the corpse, where he knows was once a tail.
He doesn’t say anything when the fire catches, as if the corpse is all too eager to burn. The depths of the flame draw his gaze, and he stares into it, the smell of sulphur fading in and out. Childe places a hand on his shoulder.
‘Let’s go.’
Zhongli takes a deep breath and turns away, listening to the last of the corpse crackle away.
~~~
‘Thank goodness you didn’t blow the whole place up,’ says Childe when they re-emerge into the cool night air. ‘God knows why, though. Maybe you’d know?’
On any other day, Zhongli would be more than willing to talk about this subject, but today there is something stuck in his throat, and he is determined to swallow it.
Childe pats him on the back once and leads him to rejoin their companions, sharing snacks between them on the very edge of the cliff. Ganyu seems to be eating for once, a biscuit handed to her from Beidou, a fact that offers him a trace of relief.
Beidou waves at them, jovial as ever, but Zhongli meets Yelan’s eyes. He remembers the blue threads in the tunnel, an all-too familiar power, never meant to be wielded by mortal hands. Yelan nods once and holds a finger to her lips, a silent promise.
The night air is still cold, but he also hears the sounds of crickets. Now, at least, this place will return to normal.
He pushes down the bubbling in his chest and nods at them, gesturing to the entrance of the mine.
He leads the way back, staying silent throughout, listening to Ganyu and Beidou banter. Yelan’s quiet presence brings up the rear, and with quick strides, Childe catches up to Zhongli.
‘Are you alright? You’re awfully quiet.’
Zhongli nods, then remembers Childe can’t see. ‘I will be alright.’
Childe nods and sticks his hands in his pockets, humming a tune. If not for his torn clothes and the blood covering his face and neck, it would be a comforting sight. Zhongli thinks back to the tunnel, the geovishap that landed on him, the crack of ribs. Was that just his imagination? Childe is not entirely honest, has never been, but Zhongli knows that he is human. He cannot—should not have survived.
But he will not bemoan that.
Yelan is gone by the time they reach the entrance, to concerned questions from Beidou. The rest of them ignore her, all focused on getting home as quickly as possible. For the first time in his life, Zhongli feels the same. His eyelids almost slide shut at one point, only saved from falling into a pond by Childe’s quick reflexes.
‘Need me to walk you home?’ Childe asks when they get on the train, the last one for the night.
‘No need.’
‘Alright then. If I find you asleep in a ditch later tonight I’m never paying for your meals ever again.’
Ganyu shoots Childe a look, but he’s pulled out a phone, its screen cracked beyond recognition, and is typing rapidly on it. Zhongli sits down near the door, trying to keep his head from swimming. Beidou joins him, not bothering to cross her legs.
‘Pretty cool, huh? You do know your stuff.’ She clicks her tongue. ‘I remember when I had to dredge up Haishan’s bones from the bottom of the ocean. Took me an entire year to get all the fragments, not to mention the whole incineration process. Hah, if not for Ningguang’s help…’
She gives a pointed cough.
‘Forget I said that. I—don’t look at me like that.’
Zhongli isn’t sure how he’s looking at her, but she’s averting her gaze, a faint flush forming over her cheeks.
‘Fine, I’ll talk to her tomorrow. I’ll get her a gift, I think that slime dessert always works—no alcohol. This… this is going to hurt. Ugh. Should have asked Ganyu for relationship advice instead.’
Ganyu, half asleep, jerks awake at the sound of her name. Beidou waves a hand. ‘Just saying, you and Keqing have way fewer disasters than us.’
‘I… don’t know,’ says Ganyu, her words slurring. ‘But it’s… it’s mostly her taking the lead. I’m just going along…’
Her head slumps onto the back of her seat. Beidou shrugs. After a while, the sound of soft snoring fills the train car.
Childe is asleep too, his phone perched precariously on his lap. Zhongli looks around at his sleeping companions, at Beidou with her eyes closed, and decides to join them.
Sleep comes easily, though he does have to be poked awake when they reach the harbour.
~~~
When the sun is just starting to rise, and the smoke from the cremation drifts out of the cave entrance, the silence of the tunnels is broken by gentle footsteps. This traveller has much to learn in the way of foresight, and is reduced to poking around dark corners with her sword before advancing, her companion floating silently behind her.
To her credit, she only winces once when her pristine white boots are soaked in the blood of a slain beast. This is the second one she’s come across, and is certainly in worse condition than the first.
Something other than instinct guides her through the winding tunnels, and her floating companion gets her attention with a tap on the shoulder at last, pointing at the charred remains on the ground.
All that remains is ashes, and a hair tie set on the ground before them. She pockets it. It looks familiar, and she should probably return it to its owner, but she could look forward to a huge profit if no one claims it.
Leaning down, she produces a simple drawstring pouch and scoops a handful of ash into it.
~~~
Zhongli wakes up in his home the next morning. Somehow, he managed to get himself out of his dirty suit last night, and got himself underneath the covers.
The sunlight streaming through his apartment windows is gentle, an exception from the grey skies that are all too common in autumn.
It is a Wednesday.
He is calm.
He doesn’t know if that should worry him or not.
When his phone rings, he picks it up.
On any other day, the voice on the other end would have him sighing in exasperation, but now it grounds him.
‘Hiiiii—’ says the voice of Director Hu Tao, and Zhongli can hear her swinging her feet, destroying the receptionist’s (his) counter. ‘You’re late today. What happened?’
‘Some Qixing business,’ says Zhongli, wincing at the rasp in his voice. ‘I’ll get there before lunch.’
‘You’d better,’ says Hu Tao. ‘The old couple from last week is here and I really don’t know what they’re trying to tell me, I think it’s a dialect from one of the seaside villages. But I think they’re angry at me—’ Typical, Zhongli thinks. ‘ —but your friend is here helping me. They like him, and he’s trying his best, but we really need you here. Meng is about to start hyperventilating again.’
‘I’ll be there in twenty minutes.’
Zhongli slides out of his bed and heads to the bathroom, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His hair looks as if it’s been through one of Hu Tao’s attempts at driving a car, sticking up at odd angles, everywhere at once. He reaches for the sink, his hand closing on an empty space where his hair tie usually sits. Right. He left that behind.
He picks out a simple band for today, marvelling at how steady his hands are when he drags a paintbrush underneath his eyes, the red eyeliner hiding the faintest trace of exhaustion there.
When he shrugs on his coat, he begins to feel more awake. His briefcase remains packed by the door, and he only pauses to grab a plain bun from his fridge, forcing himself to eat it cold.
The trains are on time, which helps massively. The grandfather clock in the corner of the reception room strikes ten just as he enters. Two figures welcome him, one tall, the other smaller, with long pigtails sticking out from underneath her hat.
‘Oh, I love you,’ says Hu Tao, clapping her hands. ‘They’re in the other room. I managed to distract them with some tea, but I don’t think it’ll hold up for long.’
‘With how you brew your tea, definitely not,’ says Childe from his corner. ‘But who am I to judge?’
‘What are you doing here?’ Zhongli asks him. Childe holds out a piece of paper.
‘Beidou cornered me this morning, said she lost your phone number… no idea how that happens. She says it’s an invitation, but I can’t really confirm that.’
Zhongli makes out the spindly handwriting. An invitation for drinks onboard the Alcor, about a week from now.
‘Who else is coming?’
‘I have a feeling everyone from yesterday—you know—is going to be there. I’ve been dying to try the baijiu here for some time, but drinking on the job is going to cost me more than my salary.’
‘I see.’ Zhongli pockets the note. ‘I look forward to it.’
Childe smiles and turns to Hu Tao, extending his hand. She takes it. ‘Pleasure doing business with you, sir,’ she says in an attempt at a formal tone. Childe chuckles and leaves, making sure to close the door behind him.
Zhongli sighs deeply, letting his shoulders sag with his exhale. ‘Director. What have you done to the poor man’s gloves?’
Hu Tao holds up her hands in a mockery of guilt, which proves difficult when her hands are coated in bright crimson paint. ‘Hey, red is his colour. Besides, it’s just hand paint.’
It is a good thing that Childe is much more benevolent than his colleagues.
‘Now,’ says Zhongli, making sure the look he’s giving her doesn’t waver. ‘Where are your customers, Director? The living ones,’ he adds quickly.
Hu Tao points at a door, halfway down the corridor that leads to the morgue. As Zhongli makes his way towards it, he notes the way Hu Tao is standing a good distance away, shuffling her feet guiltily.
‘If I hear that you’ve been trying to give them two-for-the-price-of-one coffin discounts again…’ He rests his hand on the doorknob, giving Hu Tao a pointed glare. ‘The handling of the marketing goes back to me, young lady. No arguments.’
Ignoring Hu Tao’s protests, he opens the door and braces himself.