True to his word, Childe calls his family first thing in the morning. Zhongli tries to busy himself with organising two cans of condensed milk but the conversation is hard to block out, no matter how hard he thought about the interesting carpentry of the suite’s cupboards.
‘Yes, yes,’ Childe is saying, pacing back and forth in the living room, walking in an ‘8’ pattern around the coffee table. ‘I did encourage him. But I’m just saying that he wouldn’t have tried to fight them himself if you—’
Out of the corner of his eye, Zhongli sees Childe hold the phone away from his face, dangling it by two fingers.
‘FINE! You talk to them, then. Tell them nicely, “Uh, maybe please stop beating up my son”. And if it works, you can—oh.’
The other person seems to have hung up. Childe continues his pacing, swinging his arms, checking his phone every time he makes a full circuit around his coffee table.
Zhongli is grateful when the phone rings.
‘Tonia! Are they listening? …No? Excellent. Listen, I… oh. Yeah. I’m sorry.’
Childe sits down on the couch, resorting to tapping his foot. Zhongli decides he’s committed enough of the cupboard’s details to memory and heads to the balcony. Childe nods at him, holding his phone to his ear with his shoulder. What he’s freeing up his hands for becomes apparent when he rests his face in his hands.
‘Ugh… I really have no idea what to do. God.’ He lies down sideways on the couch, resting his feet on the armrest. ‘No, no, don’t blame yourself. Just… hm.’
He sinks into his thoughts, and Zhongli steps through the sliding glass door.
The balcony is a stark contrast to the inside of the suite’s neat minimalism, its railings lined by window boxes, the spotless table decorated with a cuihua bonsai. Zhongli recognises the flowers in the window boxes as silk flowers. A quick assessment tells him that they are valley weavers, the very same variety that he prefers the essence of. If Childe is the gardener, then this is an incredibly impressive feat: not many manage to keep silk flowers alive in autumn.
The suite is on a higher floor, which allows him a bird’s eye view of this section of the city. It’s way past rush hour, a rare moment of peace in the morning. There is the smell of a storm in the air, and sure enough, the sky in the distance is grey. He’s never been a fan of rain—it’s wet and it’s irritating and it gets into your socks—but he’s partial to the smell it brings. Maybe that’s a lesson in and of itself.
He leans against the balcony railings, closing his eyes against the light breeze. A swallow flies around his head, chirping. Just when it’s about to land on his shoulder, a jarring ringing from Zhongli’s pocket makes it shriek in surprise and flit away. Zhongli picks up his phone, all irritation vanishing when he sees the name on the screen.
‘What is it, Miss Ganyu?’
‘I’m so sorry to bother you so soon,’ she says immediately. ‘But I’ve come across an interesting case. Wait, more like an entire series of cases across the country.’
Zhongli holds up a hand, even though he knows she can’t see him. ‘Wait. Are you not on an extended vacation?’
‘Yeah… but listen. This has always been on the back burner, and I only got the energy to organise it last night. It’s… promising.’
‘You said you would rest.’
‘And I will! I will,’ she says. ‘But this is important. Dust storms, Zhongli.’
Zhongli goes very still.
Dust storms are common in the deserts and surrounding areas of Sumeru, where the air is so dry that the people there have to actively find ways to maintain the water content within their bodies. This, however, is not Sumeru. There has only ever been one phenomenon that causes dust storms in Liyue.
‘Are…’ He shakes the tremor from his voice. ‘Are you sure about this?’
‘It’s nothing definite,’ says Ganyu. ‘But it’s promising. Incredibly promising. Just give me more time to cross-reference some facts, and I daresay you’ll come home to good news in a couple days.’
‘Ganyu. Do you think it’s—it’s her?’
‘I mean, Azhdaha returned, and you—’ She coughs, cutting off the rest of the sentence. ‘I’m so sorry. I’m just saying, it’s possible.’
Zhongli inhales sharply.
‘Zhongli-xiansheng? Are you still here?’
He readjusts his grip on the phone. ‘I have not left. I simply find that… it sounds too good to be true.’
‘And even better—ah, I’ll tell you more soon. If you need more time…’
Zhongli nods. He keeps his hands steady. ‘Thank you, Ganyu. I will forever owe you this favour.’
‘Don’t,’ says Ganyu. ‘This is the least I can do after everything you’ve done for us. Oh…’ A pause, and Zhongli hears a second, sharper voice on Ganyu’s end. ‘Hi, Keqing. I’ll call you when I put everything together, alright?’
She hangs up.
Zhongli sets his phone down, holding a hand to his forehead to stop the ringing in his skull. Ganyu’s always been busy, but he’d never thought to ask her what exactly she was spending her time on. Even now, her willingness to sacrifice still extends to him, and he can’t stop the warmth spreading in his chest.
But her claim… It still sounds like a very bad joke. He’s known for years that her kind can never truly die, but to have them come back with both minds and memories intact is incredibly rare. However, if there’s anything Guizhong was good at, it was piecing together the fragments of something in a way that made sense.
It will be better this time, he convinces himself. He will not find her remains stitched together with crooked thread, struggling to breathe, to think, to have to ask him to put a lighter to her and—
He breathes in deeply. Nothing definite yet, he reminds himself. He will have to wait for the weekend, at least. Even if Ganyu isn’t ready, he will visit regardless, talk to someone who has walked the same path as him.
Zhongli hears the sound of running water to his left. Childe is holding a watering can, tipping the water cautiously into the window box.
‘Silk flowers need less moisture at this time of year,’ Zhongli says, unable to stop himself. Childe nods and straightens his watering can. ‘So,’ he adds, watching the younger man poke at the flowers, frowning slightly, ‘how did things go?’
‘Unpleasantly.’ Childe sets the watering can on the floor. ‘But I’ve gotten them mad enough to raise hell at Anthon’s school. That’s something, I suppose.’
‘Hm.’ Zhongli gazes at the city skyline, bright and shining in the early morning sun. ‘I am glad things went smoothly.’
‘That’s a bit of an exaggeration.’
‘Still, is it not a development of some kind?’
Childe smiles. ‘All thanks to you. By the way, have you seen my wallet?’
~~~
For the second time in one month, Zhongli shows up to work late. This time, however, the director doesn’t seem to care, too engrossed in a conversation with two boys perched on the receptionist’s desk with her.
One of them chews nervously on a popsicle. ‘So you’re saying, if the economy keeps going down, I won’t be able to buy any popsicles?’
‘Even worse,’ says the other one, face almost completely glued to a book. ‘You won’t be able to make popsicles because you can’t buy water. People will have to start selling their houses. I think it’s called inflation.’ He nods sagely.
‘But I thought inflation was what happens when you start counterfeiting money?’
‘Those are not mutually exclusive,’ says the boy with the book.
Zhongli is about to correct them when Hu Tao finally glances up, a grin fixed firmly on her face. ‘Figured you’d show up late. Don’t try to explain,’ she says, holding up a hand. ‘Let’s bet on it. Xingqiu, Chongyun, my consultant’s excuse for showing up late to work?’
‘Overslept,’ mutters Chongyun before he finishes the rest of his popsicle in one swallow.
‘Snezhnayan twink,’ says Xingqiu.
Hu Tao’s grin widens as Zhongli chokes.
‘This—this is blatant slander,’ he finally sputters. Hu Tao giggles and whispers something to Xingqiu from behind her hand.
‘I do not mean to offend,’ says Xingqiu, finally looking up from his book. ‘But it is a natural conclusion to draw from the amount of time you spend together. On my honour,’ he says in a lower, graver tone, ‘I will not share this with anyone if you do not wish it.’
‘I—’ Zhongli sighs. ‘Please do not make assumptions with limited evidence. Childe and I are friends. Is it not natural for friends to spend time together?’
Xingqiu looks to Hu Tao, then to Chongyun, who shrugs. The boy licks a stray piece of popsicle off his skewer and says, ‘Come on. You heard the man. Leave him alone.’
Zhongli nods to him as thanks and leaves for his office. Hurried footsteps behind him tell him that Hu Tao is following, possibly to interrogate him on matters of his private life. He will never understand why people are so interested in his personal life specifically.
He only acknowledges her presence when he enters his office and takes off his coat. ‘Do you require assistance, Director?’
‘No, just a little reminder,’ she says, leaning against his office door. ‘There’s a mark on your neck, right here.’ She indicates the same spot on her own neck.
Zhongli pulls out his phone and turns on the front camera. On the side of his neck, barely visible above the collar of his shirt, is a bright red mark. He self-consciously rubs at it, but it stubbornly remains.
‘Hu Tao,’ he says quietly. The phantom brush of teeth against his neck seems more real than it was last night. ‘If anyone asks, tell them it’s a mosquito bite.’
‘That’ll never work.’
‘Please.’ Zhongli tugs his collar higher, to no avail. ‘I have a reputation to maintain.’
Hu Tao nods and leaves, though he does not miss the mischievous glint in her eye. Zhongli sighs deeply and sits down at his desk, fountain pen ready, and goes back to his routine.
The table yelps when he moves his feet. Zhongli leaps backwards, brandishing his pen, eyes trained on the space beneath his desk. With a whimper, a small blond man climbs out onto the floor, clutching something to his chest and rubbing his face. He’s wearing a mask, and that all but confirms his allegiances.
‘Are you from the Northland Bank?’ Zhongli asks, lowering his pen. The man nods quickly and stands up on shaky legs. The eyes behind the mask light up when they find Zhongli.
‘Ah, Mr—uh—I’m Felix. I work for Lord Tart—Childe. He told me to bring you this.’
Felix produces a box, sitting in the middle of the palm. Zhongli takes it, turning the box over to observe it. The paper looks salvaged from an older gift, and a quick shake tells him the item inside is much smaller than its package. He looks up, meaning to ask Felix for an explanation, but the man is gone and the only window in his office is open, creaking on its hinges in the wind.
He opens the box and actually laughs.
Inside is a singular blue stone the size of his fingernail. A closer look, and it is apparent that this stone’s quality is unmatched. It may be small, but larger specimens of noctilucous jade are relics of the past, displayed in glass cases in museums. Zhongli feels something twitch in his chest at the thought that Childe had listened to him throughout all his incoherent murmurings about rocks. This is not something that would be picked out by a mere tourist.
He’ll take this to the jeweller later, maybe get it made into an earring. Hu Tao has been harping on about the lack of variety in his cupboard, after all.
He sits back down at his desk, setting the rock at the base of his pen holder.
‘Speaking—huh? Do you have a reason for calling me at this time of day?’
‘I’m sorry, Zhongli-xiansheng, but the information you want will have to wait. I found something much, much more urgent, and it might even be dangerous—I’ll get right back to finding her once I’m done with this, though!’
‘Hmm? Oh—I see. If the issue you’re talking about is more important, then by all means, go ahead. The safety of the people comes first.’
‘Oh…’
‘Does Keqing know about this?’
‘Uhh… no. But I will tell her eventually. I’ll need as much help as I can get.’
‘And this… I will visit this weekend. We will talk, face-to-face, and I will help in whatever way I can.’
‘Oh? You really don’t need to, it might be dangerous and you—’
‘Remember your promise, Ganyu.’
‘... All right. Okay. I’ll see you then.’
‘Goodnight.’