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Childe taps his foot and peers around the Jade Chamber.
This is, of course, an action of particular note because the last time he was in Liyue, there was no Jade Chamber. Well, not when he left, anyway—it had made a great big splash in what was left of Osial after he was impacted with several hundred tons of stone, jade, and chamber.
(One would imagine that chambers did not weigh very much, being primarily composed of empty space, but Childe’s current surroundings inform him otherwise. That over there, for example, is a rather hefty paperweight on the Qixing Tianquan’s writing desk.)
“Nice digs,” he says, after a moment of silence, and smiles like he’s not currently experiencing a distressing mixture of anxiety-sweating and anticipation-sweating about the way that Ningguang is staring him down over her steepled fingers. The anticipation is about the prospect of her attempting to perform whatever violent actions upon his person that her eyes are promising. The anxiety is—well, the thing is, he’s not actually sure why he’s here. He’d barely made port before getting summoned! It can’t be his legal standing—he made sure that was sorted before he booked his ship!
There is a board behind her, he sees, with a lot of very finely written text on it. A scrap of that paper sells for thousands of mora, he knows. He’s mostly focused on the very ominous-looking downward-oriented red line slashed across the entire collection of pages, however.
“Thank you,” says the Liyue Qixing’s Tianquan. “I made them myself.”
Childe blinks. “What, by hand?”
Ningguang also blinks, but in a slow way that looks quite threatening. He’s impressed. The anxiety-anticipation sweating is turning more into anticipation than anxiety. He wonders if she would be willing to use the stone of her chamber to attempt to pummel him into the floor, or if her greed would restrict her to using only her catalyst.
She does not deign to respond to his question. Instead she snaps together several papers on her desk, taps them on the tabletop to neaten them, and lays them flat.
“What,” she asks, “are your intentions towards Zhongli, the funeral parlor consultant?”
“Oh,” sighs Childe. “Is this a shovel talk? Don’t worry, I don’t have any intentions. I didn’t know the professor had friends in such high places!”
Ningguang stares at him for a moment, and then slumps over her desk, hand pressed to her forehead. “Then we are all doomed.”
“Um.”
“This was all for nothing. I may as well just throw you off the Jade Chamber.”
“Um!”
Her eyes snap up to his, and she jerks her arm to point at the jagged red downward line behind her. “This is your fault,” she informs him in a very level, very poisonous tone. “Not even my own considerable wealth and the provision of hundreds of jobs in the reconstruction of the Jade Chamber can single-handedly restore Liyue’s economy to what it was prior to what your scheming did to this harbor. Fix it!”
Okay, that’s actually pretty fair. Childe is proud of a lot of things that happened during that time, including his fight against the Traveler, but ruining the livelihoods of random small-fry Liyuean citizens is not one of those things.
“... How?” he asks.
“How do you think?” Ningguang asks, sweet. “Get back to enabling your good friend’s exorbitant spending habits and use some of that Fatui money to inject stimulus into Liyue Harbor. After all, you didn’t think the cheque that the Northland Bank ‘donated’ prior to your return was enough to build the bridge for water to run under, do you?”
“Ah,” Childe says. “That is, Madam Tianquan, Zhongli and I aren’t on very good terms right now.”
“I don’t care,” she says bluntly. “Find better terms. I can provide work for construction and artisans, but Zhongli was the one spending on craftsmen, restaurants, and common artists. It’s what you’re here for already, isn’t it? Frankly, I’m flabbergasted that you spend so much money on someone that you aren’t actually dating, but I suppose I shouldn’t have expected such competence from the man who raised a monster to lure out a dead god. If you’re really in such dire straits, there’s an adeptus on my payroll that can help you figure it out.”
“Um,” Childe says for the third time, shifting on his feet. “Thank you…?”
“Leave.”
Fair enough.
Childe goes to speak to the adeptus.
It takes him a little while to figure out who Ningguang means, but after he mentally rifles through his vague recollections of the illicit documents he’d gotten his hands on during his last stay in Liyue, he does recall something about an adeptus that was mentioned in Ningguang’s hand. A youthful adeptus, skilled in combat and of “icy” disposition, performing more work for Liyue than any single human could manage on their own.
This is how Childe finds himself scaling the side of Wangshu Inn.
He could take the stairs, of course, but that would mean running into Verr Goldet, and he actually still had difficulties meeting the eyes of people from Mondstadt. People can say what they want about what he did in Liyue, but at least he’s trying to make up for it and didn’t go around backhanding any kids! Signora’s stint in Mondstadt really wasn’t a good look; Barbatos really knows what he’s doing, going around looking like he’s barely cleared fifteen years old.
This is also how Childe finds himself slipping off the side of Wangshu Inn.
To be fair, this slipping is precipitated by the whirlwind impact of a polearm that buries itself a half-foot deep into the wood where his hands were before he let go.
Adeptus Xiao makes ripping serrated metal six inches out of what Childe is pretty sure is ironwood look easy. He makes diving down after Childe, who is already darting down an offshooting branch of the inn’s tree, even easier. It’s like the kid isn’t even affected by gravity!
Childe is very, very affected by gravity. After what happened in Ningguang’s office, he’s also itching for a fight.
“Hey, hey,” he shoots over his shoulder, whipping out an arm and coalescing a sleek spear of hydro energy in his palm. “I’m just here to talk about Zhongli, y’know?”
As expected, this does nothing to stop his aggressor. A depressingly short scuffle later, Childe is covered in a moderate amount of blood (mostly his own) and pinned to the side of the tree with the blunt end of a spear digging into his throat.
“Why,” hisses Adeptus Xiao, “are you enjoying this.”
Childe stops grinning for just long enough to lick the blood off his teeth. “You’re a good match, Yaksha! The Traveler’s off in Inazuma, so where else am I meant to get a proper fight?”
Xiao’s mouth twitches downwards in abject disgust, and he whips his spear away.
“Hey, wait—” Childe reaches out, which only prompts Xiao to flee faster. “I really am here to ask your help, Xiao! Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do? Someone calls your name, and you come help? Xiao? Xiao?”
Xiao stops, shoulders rigid. “Who told you that?”
“Uh, some kid I met on the road. She was super cute, showed me her doll and everything. Look, your boss told me to make up with your other boss, and said I could come to you for help!”
Xiao finally turns around, to reveal his expression doing something very strange. “... My lord told you to seek me out?”
“Um, no,” Childe says, peeling himself down from where he’s making a bloody imprint on the side of Wangshu Inn. “Ningguang. Unless you call Ningguang your lord. She does have a lordly vibe.”
“... You think I answer to Ningguang?”
“Well, what other overworked young-looking icy combat-specialist adeptus is in her employ?”
Xiao stares for a moment. It greatly resembles Ningguang’s staring. Childe becomes more certain in his conviction that the guy is working for Ningguang, but decides to take pity. The poor kid must be embarrassed to be something like three thousand years old and still be posted out at an inn instead of working at the right hand of his country’s leader.
Bitter? Never met her.
“Anyway,” Childe coughs. “I need to make up with Zhongli. Apparently making him happy is good for Liyue’s economy, and Ningguang cares about Liyue’s economy.”
Xiao does not look convinced.
Childe coughs again, and looks at his feet. Oh, the bleeding has slowed enough that he is no longer dripping. “And I, uh. Care about making Zhongli happy.”
Xiao looks marginally more convinced. He even bites his lip, gaze darting off to the side as he looks in some personally-meaningful direction. Wow, does the Last Yaksha have an important person?
“... I’ve been told flowers are romantic,” Xiao mutters, turning away. “Rex Lapis has always had a fondness for glaze lilies. Don’t bother me again.”
Then he disappears.
“Oh,” Childe says to the empty air. “Thanks, that’s actually very helpful. I’ll just—”
His foot slides in the puddle of blood that had accumulated beneath him earlier, and he promptly slips off of the tree again.
(He yells Xiao’s name on the way down instead of saving himself, idly curious about if it will work, and subsequently does not end up as a splattered puddle of blood smeared across the ground. Adeptus Xiao does not appreciate his thanks.)
So, that was mostly a bust. It’s not surprising that Ningguang’s idea didn’t pan out when she’s also the person trying to revitalize Liyue’s economy through such a roundabout way as Childe and Zhongli’s love life. Childe has always preferred to be more straightforward about things, so that’s what he’s going to do: go to Wangsheng Funeral Parlor and actually talk to Zhongli. This isn’t some kind of romcom where he has to get up to a series of easily-avoided misunderstandings, and he’s not interested in beating around the bush.
(Though he does stop by a bush. Specifically, a patch of glaze lilies. What? He’s not going to just throw away advice given to him by an adeptus!)
“Zhongli!” he calls, swinging through the doors to the funeral parlor bouquet-first just in case Zhongli is in a more murdering-oriented mood at the prospect of Childe’s return post-destruction of Liyue. “Professor, where are you!”
“Ooooh,” comes a significantly more feminine voice than he had been expecting. “A suitor stopping by with flowers for old Zhongli? Don’t tell me—you’re here to plan a funeral!”
Childe stops in the entryway, blinking down at the young lady in funeral directors’ clothes who is standing in front of him.
“Um,” he says. “No. No, these flowers are not for a dead person.”
“Huh,” she replies, eyeing him up and down before propping her hands up on her hips. Her eyes linger at his collar and trail down the side of his jacket, where the blood from his fight with Xiao has since darkened to a rusty tone that complements his scarf and mask pretty well. “Probably for the best. The wild-type glaze lilies really aren’t what they used to be.”
Childe looks down at the bouquet in his hands. The flowers do look a little bit anemic.
“Look,” he says, brushing the thought away. “Could you let me know where Zhongli is? I have something important to tell him.”
“Is it about your impending death?” she asks, eyes wide, and clasps her hands together in—hope?!
“No!”
“So you don’t want to buy a coffin?”
“Even if I died, I probably wouldn’t be buried in Liyue. Who are you, anyway?”
The girl heaves out an extremely put-upon sigh. “I'm the 77th Director of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor, Hu Tao. I should’ve known you looked too lively when you pranced in here. I guess you’re gonna say that’s a romantic bouquet or something, then?”
Childe is the 11th Fatui Harbinger of Her Majesty the Tsaritsa and he is not going to bury his face in the flower bouquet in embarrassment. Especially because it would definitely mess up the flowers. “... Yeah.”
“That’s fine,” Hu Tao says, slumping down even further. “I guess. Oh, hey! You know what—I’ll solve your problem and get you in good with Zhongli if you do me a favor, how’s that? I need help filling this new coffin!”
“Sure,” Childe says, and shifts the bouquet to one arm to summon a jagged hydro dagger.
“—Just over here, can you just lay down in it so that I can make sure the size—what are you holding?”
Childe smiles beatifically over the bouquet he is holding with both hands and steps gamely over the puddle of water on the floor. “Glaze lilies, you already said! How do you want me to pose?”
She ends up ushering him into laying on his back in the coffin, like a dead person. He puts the bouquet off to the side and goes for a more relaxed look to alleviate the impression, and Hu Tao immediately prods him back into corpse pose, even going as far as to lay his hands together over the bouquet on his chest.
It’s honestly quite comfortable! There’s a nice satin lining all over the inside that he feels bad for getting his boots on, and a little cushion for his head. Childe ends up closing his eyes and considering taking a snooze while Hu Tao flits about with a tape measure.
He’s halfway to falling asleep when he hears a choked noise coming from above him and his eyes shoot open, ready to, most likely, vault out of the coffin and maim whoever is trying to attack Hu Tao.
Except the sound is not Hu Tao choking around somebody’s hands around her throat. No, it’s Zhongli—wide-eyed and wan, pale in a way that Childe has never seen him as he flees the room.
“—Zhongli?” Childe tries to call, but it comes out as a quiet croak. Blood loss is dehydrating, and he hasn’t had anything to wet his throat in a couple of hours. “Zhongli!”
A door slams. Hu Tao presses a palm over her mouth, looking torn between horror and a hysterical urge to laugh. “Er—well, there he is! Debt paid, Mister Harbinger! Go get him!”
Childe doesn’t spare the time to shoot her a dark look, instead focusing on scrambling out of the coffin without destroying his flowers—a success—or splitting open his recently-healed wounds—a failure, judging by the warm trickle of blood that snakes down his leg—and sprints after Zhongli.
It’s been months since Childe has scanned over the illegally-obtained blueprints of the funeral parlor to determine the best way to parkour in through Zhongli’s office window, but he still remembers the indoor way to the office like the back of his hand. When he gets to it, however, he finds himself slowing down, and has to take a deep breath to stop his heart from pattering too unsteadily before pushing his way in.
“Zhongli?” he asks quietly, feeling a tad bit like a broken record.
Zhongli is leaning over his desk, head in his hands. When Childe comes in, his head jerks up. He looks like he’s staring down a demon, eyes wide and red-rimmed.
Childe swallows. “I… didn’t realize my return would be so distressing for you, professor.”
“Childe?” Zhongli asks, hoarse. “You’re—alive?”
Childe offers a weak smile, and proffers the bouquet. “Let me make it up to you?”
Zhongli stands and makes his way before Childe, slowly, and takes the flowers, also slowly. A little bit of life is starting to come back to his eyes, and it softens as he brushes his fingers over the glaze lily petals.
“Guizhong used to love these,” he murmurs, and Childe nearly chokes on his own spit.
Guizhong?! The thought echoes through his thoughts frantically. His dead maybe-wife! Xiao, what is wrong with your flower suggestions?!? Hu Tao, did you know this?! Is everybody playing a trick on me? No way, Xiao is way too dire for humor like that…
“Um! Well, that’s—er.” Childe scrubs his palms over his face. “I feel like we have a lot to unpack, including that. Um. Liuli Pavilion has a new seasonal menu.”
Zhongli looks a little bit like he’s been poleaxed. “... To my knowledge, you need reservations weeks in advance to get seating when the new menus come out.”
“Not if you bribe the front desk!” Childe chirps. “C’mon, professor, since I apparently picked the worst flowers possible, please let me at least take you on a date! I’ve been threatened and stabbed all over Liyue today just for a chance to make things up to you!”
Zhongli takes a deep breath, and when he blows it out, Childe becomes acutely aware of where Hu Tao got her sighing habits from.
“Very well,” Zhongli says. “But first, please clean yourself up. You are getting blood on the carpet, and it’s an antique.”
Finally!
(The bouquet ends up meeting its untimely end when Hu Tao pokes her head into the room and exclaims, “See! I told you I’d solve your problem!” and Childe flings the entire thing at her head.)
