Chapter Text
A knock startles Baizhu from his calculations. He frowns at the page for a moment, then looks up when he cannot recover his spot. Gui stands on the threshold, a tea tray balanced on his arm. Behind him and the eaves of the pharmacy roof, the sky is golden. Another breathtaking sunset.
“Master,” Gui says, “I made some tea. Would you like some?”
“Have you closed the pharmacy?” Baizhu asks, turning back to the numbers. One of them is smudged—a careless brush of his hand.
“It seems a little early,” he adds, striking a line through the entire sum.
“Qiqi is watching over things,” Gui says.
A smile sneaks onto Baizhu’s face. He enjoys the strange sales that his ward makes when in the shop alone. A shelf in the back room of the pharmacy holds her collection, small things that take her fancy, things for which she trades expensive medicine. Nothing has matched her bargain for coconut milk, however.
The smile retreats quick as it came. Baizhu rests his brush against its stand and removes his glasses.
“No need to trouble Qiqi if you wish to take a break,” he says, rubbing his eyes. “I can watch over the shop.”
There’s no immediate answer. Baizhu blinks, replaces his glasses and looks back at Gui. The herbalist wears a half-smile, the one he reserves for suggestions of which he disapproves.
“You’ve been working too hard,” Gui says. “You haven’t moved from that spot since noon.”
Baizhu waves a hand through the air. “I’ve stood to fetch books or herbs a few times a least,” he says. He doesn’t mention the stiffness in his shoulders from working hunched over. When he developed that habit, he doesn’t know, but it’s a bad one. He must work to break it again. Health is everything, after all.
Changsheng has been quiet all afternoon, dozing on the desk instead of criticising Baizhu’s work, but now she lifts her head. She peers at Baizhu a long moment, tongue slithering out to taste the air.
“He will benefit from tea and the sea breeze,” she proclaims at length. “Perhaps a table on the terrace.”
Without hesitation—as though Changsheng rather than Baizhu is his employer—Gui deposits the tea tray on a side table and darts back out the door.
“It will only take a minute to set up!” he calls over his shoulder.
Baizhu snorts and holds out his arm. Changsheng abandons her place to coil around and up it.
“Traitor,” Baizhu says as she settles on his shoulders.
“You are no good to anyone overworked and half-asleep,” Changsheng scolds. “A doctor cannot care for his patients if he does not care for himself.”
“That is an unfair argument.”
“Why? Because you cannot refute it? You’ve lost. Get up and take the tea outside.”
Shaking his head, Baizhu obeys.
On the terrace, Gui has put a small round table by the balustrade, overlooking the water. Baizhu halts. The tea cups rattle. The sound catches Gui’s attention: he abandons the stool he’s placing and hurries over.
“Allow me,” Gui says. “You shouldn’t exert yourself.”
“Carrying a tea tray is not exertion,” Baizhu replies.
But he allows Gui to take the tray. He doesn’t have the strength to fight him as well as memories. He should go back inside, where they are less potent.
“You haven’t recovered from your most recent flare,” Gui says. “I don’t want you to suffer another. Please, Master.”
Gui gestures to the stool.
“I’ll fetch the other,” he explains as he strides back towards the pharmacy.
Baizhu doesn’t move. Changsheng’s tongue flicks his cheek.
“You’re being an idiot,” she says softly.
She’s right. As always. And yet completely wrong. She wasn’t there when Zhongli took Baizhu’s hand and lifted it to his lips. When he looked into Baizhu’s eyes before walking away without another word.
Baizhu takes a breath, then a step towards the table. Each one after that is a little easier, until he’s finally seated. Below, the market is beginning to turn. The stalls offering fresh produce are closing, while the lanterns are lit for the evening trade.
“Would you like something to eat?” Gui asks, placing the second stool on the opposite side of the table. “I noticed you didn’t have lunch.”
“Then you are watching me too closely,” Baizhu says.
“Just a bowl of rice,” Gui suggests.
Baizhu closes his eyes and sighs. Gui must understand because he pours the tea instead of pressing further.
The tea is flavoured lightly with cinnamon and its scent smooths the edges of Baizhu’s discomfort. He savours it in silence, watching people traverse the bridge below. Traffic increases in the evening as citizens hurry home and travellers seek shelter. While he watches, the Melileth stop someone with a large cart of goods, probably to check their papers. The Qixing use inspections to monitor the contracts that form Liyue’s foundations. The numbers must always add up; the stories must always be consistent. Preventing corruption and fraud requires continuous re-examination of the facts. To uncover a lie, one must repeatedly record the truth.
“He hasn’t visited,” Gui says suddenly.
Baizhu stills, cup midair. Changsheng shifts her weight. She’s worried, but she needn’t be. Baizhu is nothing more than shocked. The resolve on Gui’s face, the tension in his shoulders, is evidence enough that he considered before raising a topic Baizhu has so carefully, so obviously avoided. Gui must feel it is absolutely essential that they discuss this. Anger would be unwarranted.
“So that is the purpose of this interlude,” Baizhu muses.
Gui flushes. His cup clatters against the table, tea slopping over its edge.
“The last time he was here was three weeks ago,” Gui says as he mops up the liquid with his sleeve.
“The day of Caihong’s death,” Baizhu replies. “I know.”
Gui clenches his fist. Baizhu smiles. His assistant can be disarmingly earnest at times. For that reason, if no other, Baizhu is glad the contract will not pass to him.
“I can guess what happened,” Gui says. “Even if I can’t figure out why. It seemed best to leave things be, but then I noticed how you’re working yourself to the bone even through flares.”
“I apologise for worrying you. I wasn’t aware that I was conducting myself differently…at least, not enough to cause concern. I will amend my behaviour.”
“No, that’s not what I—what I mean to say is, we’re all worried. Even Qiqi. She told me yesterday that you are sad and she will pick violet grass to cheer you up.”
“That’s not necessary,” Baizhu murmurs. He takes a bracing sip of tea. He feels queasy, thinking of people trying to care for him.
Gui sighs. “Master,” he says, his voice a little stronger, “it isn’t my place to say, I know, but you seemed very…in love. I suppose sometimes even that can’t sustain a thing, but you looked for each other constantly. When Mister Zhongli was around you didn’t seem to notice anything else.”
Baizhu reaches for the teapot. It’s true that a warmth, much like that evoked by the cinnamon tea, blossomed in his chest whenever Zhongli was near. It’s sensible to believe others noticed corresponding behaviour. But in hindsight and grief, it’s easy to overlook other things. Zhongli and his fine coat never quite fit in Baizhu’s kitchen, no matter how gentle his care. No one else saw that. No one else would remark upon it. So Baizhu forces himself to remember.
“How I behaved,” he says finally, refilling Gui’s cup, “didn’t change the truth.”
“The truth?”
Baizhu rests the teapot on the table for a moment. As his student, Gui is owed knowledge, even that which he’s reluctant to share. Baizhu’s own master didn’t hesitate like this. But then, his master had fewer secrets. Or rather, secrets that could be shared with a student. He didn’t make a vow to end the contract. He always intended to pass it on.
One day, Baizhu will come to terms with that. It’s hard, though. He cannot imagine passing his torment to another.
“Have I ever told you how I came upon my Vision?” Baizhu asks as he pours himself fresh tea.
Gui coughs and averts his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he mutters. “You really don’t want to talk about him. I shouldn’t have brought this up. I’ll—”
“I’m not avoiding your question,” Baizhu says quickly. “The opposite, in fact. I’m answering it as completely as I can.”
Gui looks up again. “No, Master. You’ve never told me how you earned your Vision.”
Changsheng nudges Baizhu’s chin with her nose. He strokes her back as he speaks.
“It isn’t a complicated plot, by any means. Standing by my master’s grave, I vowed that there would never again be a death as needless and wrong as his.”
Baizhu pauses, pulling in a quavering breath as he thinks of Caihong.
“When I opened my eyes,” he continues, “the Vision lay atop the tombstone.”
There’s a long moment of silence. Gui frowns. “Master…?” he questions.
“Indeed,” Baizhu laughs. He shrugs. “There’s nothing else. It’s certainly not a gripping tale. I did not defeat a gang of thugs or wander the plane between life and death. In fact, the gods granted me a Vision because I flee death. That’s cowardice, is it not? I don’t deserve one.”
“Master,” Gui repeats, in a very different tone.
“You’re right; I digress,” Baizhu says. “I was granted a Vision because of my desire to overcome death, and I turned that Vision to that purpose. But death is inevitable.”
Gui’s eyebrows knit together. “I don’t understand. How is this related to you and Mister—”
“Simply put,” Baizhu says, “I am a fraud. The funeral consultant, however, is not. I’m a spineless man, Gui. And I’m jealous of him. So I fled. Rather than face my own weaknesses, I fled.”
Gui’s expression twists.
Bubu Pharmacy has been open for seven years. Baizhu has been Liyue’s most celebrated doctor for a little over three. Some unimportant day between those two milestones, he noticed the looks people gave him. Curious, but cautious. Well-mannered, but wary. Liyue’s history is dotted with dragons and demons, and its people approach unexplained talent with suspicion. Baizhu, a young man from Chenyu Vale with a talking snake around his neck, who could cure incurable afflictions with apparent ease, fell into that category.
In response to their fear, Baizhu smiled and went about his work. Distrust didn’t affect his income, so it was easy to ignore.
With time, the looks changed. Caution was replaced with disregard. Wariness with condescension. It’s astonishing that a person of his talent is such a feeble character. But the pharmacy was busy and Baizhu could disregard the ambiguous thoughts of strangers. So he smiled and went about his work.
On Gui, the familiar contempt is milder, lasting only a moment—but it hurts more. A beautifully honest person, Gui cannot hide his disappointment, and that tells Baizhu enough. His student’s scorn is worse than anything he has faced before. Its sting isn’t eased by a customer’s mora or a passerby’s irrelevance. It is something he must live with.
Baizhu smiles and stands. A little shaky on his legs, but solid enough for purpose. “I should look in on Qiqi,” he says.
Gui pushes himself away from the table, the stool scraping against the stone terrace. All traces of disgust are gone. In their place, regret.
“Master, I—”
“Once I have done that, I must return to work,” Baizhu interrupts gently. “But thank you for the tea. The balance of ingredients was perfect. You’ve improved.”
Gui wrings his hands and hangs his head. “Thank you, Master,” he says.
The remorse in his voice serves as an apology. Baizhu doesn’t like to carry grudges, even if he cannot forget, so he nods and leaves the table.
“It is unlike you to stay silent so long,” he mutters to Changsheng as they round the pharmacy and escape Gui’s gaze.
“I had nothing to add,” Changsheng replies. “Gui was surprisingly eloquent.”
“You agree with him then.”
“That is none of your business. Sometimes the best way for you humans to learn is to be allowed your stupidity, after all.”
The sky is inky black, dotted with more stars than Baizhu can count. He folds his knees to his chest and stares up at them. The village elder tells stories about how Rex Lapis put the stars there to guide people to Liyue Harbour during the Archon War, after the god of the Vale was defeated. Baizhu’s never seen Liyue Harbour, and he supposes he never will. The city is as much a myth to him as the ancient wars the elder speaks about.
He doesn’t know if Rex Lapis really exists either, but he’s sure he’ll find out soon enough. His parents are rotting in their beds and he’ll be next.
“Son! Son!”
Baizhu twists onto his belly and peers over the eave.
“Mama?” he calls back.
“Come down. I’ve made your favourite dumplings.”
Baizhu jumps from the roof, landing lightly and steadily on his feet. His mother ushers him into the kitchen. He sits with crossed legs at the mahogany table in the centre of the room, a basket of steaming dumplings and a bowl of soup before him.
“Eat eat,” his mother orders.
Baizhu eats. He doesn’t look up to check if anyone joins him; this is too much of a treat. It’s been so long since his mother was well enough to make him food.
“Eat up, son,” his father says.
Baizhu grins around a mouthful of soup. He thinks his father smiles back, but his father has no face, so he can’t be sure.
“Eat well so you grow strong,” his mother adds. “Your father needs help with the harvest. There’s no one left.”
She places another dumpling on Baizhu’s plate. Her arm and hand are covered in red marks, some scabbed, some bleeding freely.
“Eat eat!”
Baizhu picks up the dumpling with his chopsticks and stuffs the whole into his mouth. It is instantly replaced on the plate.
“Eat eat!” comes the order. “They are all dead.”
Baizhu nods, an eager need to obey and please his parents overwhelming any protest that he’s full. The food keeps coming. He eats and eats until he thinks he will burst.
“Son,” his father exclaims, “is it time?”
“Time, baba?” Baizhu asks.
“Yes. Time for you to join us. Look.”
Baizhu drops his chopsticks. They clatter on the table.
“Baizhu!” his mother shrieks. “Don’t make such a racket!”
Baizhu ignores her, his heart thudding in his chest. He cannot look away from the red sores blossoming on his arm. He scratches one with his nail and it starts to bleed.
“I’m so glad you won’t be left alone, son,” he father says. “You will join us. We can all be together.”
Baizhu scrambles to his feet. An ornate mirror with a copper snake curled at its top stands in the corner of the kitchen. His hands, arm, face, neck are all spotted with sores. Through his shirt’s loose collar, he sees they spread further, down his chest.
“Mama?” he whimpers. “Baba?”
Silence greets his plea. He lifts his hands to his face and presses the sores on his cheeks. His rose-coloured eye fill with tears.
Baizhu gasps.
He pushes off the bed, flinching when his feet touch the cold wood floor. His hands shake as they strike the flint he leaves beside his glowing Vision. The candle wick bursts into flame on the fourth attempt, scolding his finger. No time to treat the injury; he rips his shirt off over his head, grabs the candle with his burned hand and carries it to the ornate mirror in the corner. The one with the copper snake curled at the top.
Golden eyes peer back at Baizhu from the mirror’s depths. His skin is pale and clear.
Baizhu closes his eyes. His heart is racing. He flexes his fingers, orientating himself, letting himself remember.
He’s alone in his room at Bubu Pharmacy. Changsheng decided to sleep in some other crevice of the shop. His day was ordinary, spent preparing prescriptions and devising new medicines. Qiqi brought him a glaze lily she found in the hills outside the harbour. He scolded her for wandering so far alone.
His parents are dead twenty years.
He’s trembling.
Baizhu turns from the mirror and steps carefully through the dark to his night-table. A hand mirror lies face down on top of it, abandoned after his evening routine. He places the candle beside it, then tugs on the handle of the table’s top drawer. Jars rattle as it opens, the largest leading the chorus in deep tones. He selects that one and twists the lid.
A faint scent of roses drifts through the air. Baizhu breathes deeply of it as he sinks onto the stool before the night-table, allowing habit to take control of his body. He props the mirror against some books, angled to reflect his face. His hand quivers as he scoops cream from the jar to dot on his forehead and cheeks, but he ignores it. He massages the cosmetic into his skin, slowly, slowly, until his hand steadies.
I’m not ill, he chants silently. I’m not dying. I have time.
Changsheng appears as Baizhu uses a slim glass cylinder to retrieve a measure of an expensive Fontainese serum from its bottle. She watches him apply it: one drop on each cheek, a third on his forehead, a fourth on the nose.
“What happened?” she asks finally.
Baizhu looks down into her large pink eyes. Eyes that once belonged to him. Eyes that he saw in his teen-aged reflection in the dream.
“Do you remember my parents?” he counters.
Changsheng tilts her head, then slithers onto his arm. She wraps herself around his shoulders. Her scales are cool against his bare skin.
“We didn’t know them well,” she says softly. “Your parents were healthy folk and rarely needed Hu Cheng’s assistance on the occasions we passed through the village.
“When the plague struck, they were gone before we reached your house. We discovered you burying them. Hu Cheng felt pity when he saw the dirt under your nails.”
Baizhu regards his hands. They are soft, unmarked, without callouses. He treats the skin with a lotion and oil every day; trims and files his nails regularly. He cannot remember how his hands looked when he played in the dirt and worked his family’s allotment.
“There was no one to help you,” Changsheng continues. “You moved your parents’ bodies alone.”
In his village, the burial ground is on the side of the hill to the south. To get there from his childhood home, Baizhu walked through the tea fields and down to the river, following its path to the gate. How could he, a slim boy newly fourteen, have moved his parents all that way alone?
“Do they overlook the river?” he chokes.
Changsheng flicks his cheek with her tongue. “You buried them in the garden of the house.”
Baizhu closes his eyes. He doesn’t remember. As far as he knows, that house lies abandoned, decrepit, unwanted since its last son left the Vale.
“Hu Cheng couldn’t console you. You bowed in front of their graves, weeping because you thought they would not rest easy.”
“I do not believe that they do,” Baizhu whispers.
“You did everything a son should.”
“I do not keep their graves. I…I cannot picture their faces.”
“You fear their ghosts?”
“I fear oblivion.”
The night blankets his words and suffocates them. Only Changsheng is present to hear, and she is as much him as he is. So it is as though no one knows. No one bears witness to his weakness and shame.
Baizhu looks in the mirror and lifts his fingers to the corners of his eyes. Subtle lines spread from their corners. The aftermath of smiles and laughter and worry. Marks of life. The antithesis of youth.
“I must devise a new eye cream,” he murmurs.
Changsheng sighs.
Baizhu pushes into Hu Tao’s office without knocking. She startles, then glares at him. He’s caught her in the midst of packing her bag, no doubt for another of her jaunts around Liyue.
“Where’s Qiqi?” he demands as the door snaps shut behind him.
Hu Tao plants her hands on her hips. “What exactly are you accusing me of?”
“Please, for once, answer the question,” Baizhu says.
“One for one.”
“I don’t have time for this, Hu Tao.” Baizhu rests a hand against the back of a convenient chair, allowing it to take his weight. His exhaustion was forgotten in the mad dash across the harbour, but now he has stopped moving, it returns in full force. “Have you buried her again?”
“Ugh. Fine. Of course not. I haven’t tried in months. Not since you scolded me last time.”
Hu Tao is many things, but, like her uncle his Master, she is not a liar. Baizhu steps around the chair and sinks down onto it, still holding onto its back with one hand. He needs a moment to rest before he hurries home. But not too long—if he is quick, he can leave the harbour before noon.
“I’ve answered your question. My turn,” Hu Tao says. “You look very tired. Like a ghost. Pale. A foot over the border. Since you’re here, should we make some plans for your burial?”
“Qiqi is missing,” Baizhu responds. “No one has seen her.”
“What?”
“She often visits Yaoyao and Madame Ping in the morning. I thought nothing of her absence until Yaoyao came to the pharmacy.”
Hu Tao snorts. “So you let that child wander around alone?”
“No,” Baizhu snaps. “I’ve insisted again and again that she not leave the city without me or Herbalist Gui. But when she gets an idea into her head…”
Hu Tao crosses the room and rests a hand on Baizhu’s shoulder, leaning over to look him in the eye.
“You should let me put her to rest,” she says seriously, and not unkindly. “It should have happened years ago. It won’t be painful for her, I—”
Baizhu pushes Hu Tao’s hand away and stands. She’s forced a step backwards, and to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact. Somehow, she still manages to look down upon him.
“I need to find her,” he says.
“It isn’t natural,” Hu Tao calls after him. Baizhu stops in the open doorway, fingers tight on the door handle. “You should let people go. Let them rest. People deserve dignity in death. Qiqi deserves dignity.”
Baizhu blows out a breath and turns back.
“What is dignity?” he asks.
Hu Tao opens her mouth, but he continues before she can make a sound.
“Open, weeping wounds? Blood under the nails from scratching at scabs? Gasping breaths? Crying for water but unable to swallow it down? A shallow grave on a muddy hillside, being washed away in the next typhoon, a spirit wandering in the dark miles from home, lost and without kin?”
Hu Tao’s face grows paler the longer Baizhu speaks. A flicker of compassion, sympathy, in her eyes. Baizhu shakes his head, refusing to acknowledge it.
“Death is not dignified, no matter how the Wangsheng Funeral Parlour tries to make it so,” he says.
“Baizhu—”
“Let’s argue another day,” Baizhu sighs. “I must find Qiqi.”
Changsheng waits in the entrance of his quarters at the pharmacy.
“No Qiqi?” she asks.
Baizhu shakes his head, not stopping to explain. He pushes into his bedroom and goes straight to his clothing chest. He digs within for the bag he uses when travelling to visit patients.
“You should not go slithering around the countryside,” Changsheng says. She circles the leg of the bed and lifts herself up onto the mattress. “You’ve barely slept for weeks. Because of that, you haven’t recovered from the last time you used the contract. Your constitution is weak.”
“I’ve travelled in much worse condition,” Baizhu argues, despite being thankful Changsheng neglected to mention the reasons for his sleepless nights. “This cannot wait.”
“Send Gui.”
“Gui needs to take care of the pharmacy.”
“You can take care of the pharmacy. This isn’t a patient call.”
Baizhu takes a breath to banish the unwelcome and horrifying images that leap into his mind. Qiqi is stronger than she looks. Even monsters fall to her sword. She’s clever too. She knows how to keep out of sight, to stay safe from people who mean her harm.
Nonetheless…
“You don’t know that,” he says.
Changsheng doesn’t respond. Baizhu takes that as victory and throws his flint into his bag.
“I know where Qiqi likes to collect herbs,” he adds, by way of reconciliation. “I will find her faster than anyone else.”
“At least take someone else,” Changsheng says. “You will tire quickly if faced with trouble. Ask someone with a Vision.”
A sharp pain flits through Baizhu’s chest. Not long ago, that option was always open to him. Now? Gaming might help, but he’s on the road back to Chengu Vale. Hu Tao? He shakes his head. Foolish.
“There’s no time,” he says, closing his bag and turning once more to his clothing chest. The mornings are chilly; he will need a scarf.
“You’re making excuses.”
“Changsheng—”
“Don’t fuss, I’m coming. Do you think I’d let you go alone?”
“If you stay then—”
“Master!”
Baizhu drops his bag as Gui bursts through the door. He doesn’t sound alarmed, and he wears a broad smile.
“It’s okay,” he says. “She’s back.”
Baizhu pushes past Gui. Worry carries him faster than strength along the terrace. He’s thankful for the bright sunlight to differentiate this moment from the last time he responded to a shout. This time, he hears the child—he hears Qiqi before he sees her. She’s alive. There are leaves in her hair and a tear in her apron, but she’s on her feet, staring blankly at a spot a foot in front of her. Baizhu exhales, tension seeping from his body, until Qiqi shoots towards the pharmacy stairs. Baizhu cries out, reaching forward, to stop her—
—but Qiqi crashes into an invisible barrier. She squeaks, steps back, and rubs her nose. Then tries another direction. This time, she’s knocked backwards and falls to the ground, arms dropping back to catch herself. She sits there, still staring at something unseen. Whatever it is, it must surround her completely, preventing her from obeying whatever order she gave herself.
Qiqi pushes herself back to her feet.
“Qiqi!” Baizhu pleads, striding towards her.
Mindful that whatever keeps Qiqi confined may block his way, Baizhu raises a hand in front of him. There’s some sort of force, solid, like rock, blocking his way. But it warms at his touch. Curious, he steps forward. Elemental power lifts the hairs on his arms as he passes through the barrier.
Before Baizhu can search for the source, Qiqi treads on his toes, trying to dart around him. She saw him pass the barrier and must believe there is a weak spot behind him. Baizhu drops to his knees and gathers her into his arms, holding tight against her struggles. One foot presses hard against his leg, pushing in an escape attempt. The other scrapes on the paving.
“Qiqi,” Baizhu says softly. “Where have you been?”
Qiqi’s feet still. Her body goes limp in his arms, the fight gone. Baizhu releases her immediately, shocked. Qiqi peers up at him.
“Doctor Bai?” she mumbles. “I was supposed to bring you qingxin from the top of Qingyun Peak. Where is it?”
She pats her pockets. Baizhu grabs her hand, stopping her frenzy before it transforms into another order.
“You picked enough last time,” he says. “No need to worry.”
“Oh.” Qiqi blinks. “Then I will go and grind the herbs.”
She pulls away and turns toward the pharmacy. This time, she is permitted pass, and she plods into the shop and out of sight.
Gui hurries over, in the process confirming that the barrier is gone. “Master?” he asks, offering his hand. Baizhu shakes his head, resting his hands on his knees to push himself up. Gui steps back while Baizhu brushes his trousers.
“It worked so well this time,” the herbalist says, filling the air with needless chatter. “Has something changed? Usually it’s a lot harder to cancel the order.”
“Then the remedy for the child’s condition is an embrace?” comes a second voice from behind him.
Stress tightens Baizhu’s spine, vertebrate by vertebrate. He blows out a breath, then turns to face their visitor.
Zhongli clasps his hands behind his back as he approaches, his smile honest and unperturbed. He nods genially at Gui before stopping in front of Baizhu, head tilted to the side, questioning. Is he allowed to be here?
Baizhu’s palms ache with miserable need. Zhongli’s earring brushes his cheek, mocking. Baizhu longs to reach out and trace the perfect contour it caresses. He wants to draw Zhongli close; to hide his face against his chest. There are no nightmares there. He remembers the tender care with which Zhongli combed his hair when they last shared a bed. He desires that intimacy again too.
His heart stutters. After five weeks of separation, his longing has only increased.
Baizhu pastes a nonchalant smile on his face and crosses his arms. He notices Gui loitering, out of concern or curiosity, he doesn’t know.
“Is Qiqi’s safe return the work of the funeral consultant?” Baizhu asks Zhongli lightly. “If so, there is no way this one can repay him.”
Zhongli’s eyes flash. For a brief moment, Baizhu thinks he will return with a challenge; but then he shakes his head.
“It was nothing,” Zhongli says politely. “I discovered her attempting to climb the cliffs in the valley of Jueyun Karst. Despite my best efforts, I could not convince her to forgo her quest.”
“And the barrier?”
Zhongli hesitates. “An invention of my Vision,” he says slowly. “It was the only way to bring her safely home.”
The protection of an Archon. Baizhu feels dizzy, but nonetheless bows in gratitude.
“This one regrets the trouble Qiqi has caused you,” he says.
Zhongli presses his lips together. Usually, that means he is about to concede a point. If Baizhu could allow emotion to escape, he would sigh in relief. As it is, he waits for Zhongli’s answer, the stupid smile still on his face. It will be over soon. Then the mask can shatter.
“This one,” Zhongli says finally, gesturing to himself by placing a hand over his heart, “would do a great deal more for the sake of the doctor.”
From the corner of his eye, Baizhu sees Gui spin on his heel and rush away. He wishes he could do the same, but he’s rooted to the spot, obliged to remain by manners and his pride. He must endure whatever comes.
“I could never allow anything to happen to someone you love so dearly,” Zhongli continues. “Not if preventing the injury is within my power. Protecting your daughter was within my power.”
Baizhu shakes his head, laughing. A reaction born of not knowing how to react.
“You cannot use what was spoken in dreams against me,” he says.
Zhongli’s eyes widened. “You remember?” Zhongli breathes.
“Of course I remember. Am I someone who would forget visiting an adeptal abode? Or speaking with Rex Lapis? It was not only the healing that exposed your identity.”
Zhongli reaches a hand towards him. “Baizhu—”
“I thought you were a man of your word,” Baizhu interrupts.
Zhongli retreats the step he claimed.
“I try to be,” he says. “That is why I have not set foot in Yujing Terrace between then and now. However, I believed that the situation was an acceptable reason to break my promise.”
“It was,” Baizhu replies. “And I truly am grateful for what you did. But you’ve fulfilled your purpose here.”
Zhongli casts his gaze to the ground. “You will not reconsider?”
“It is impossible.”
Amber eyes rise again to meet his.
“And you will not tell me the truth?”
Baizhu almost reaches out—but resists, and despises his weakness.
“It is impossible,” he repeats.
The moonlight reflects off the pools of Yujing Terrace. Baizhu remembers how beautiful they looks a few months earlier, when coloured paper lanterns floated on their surface to celebrate Lantern Rite. That night, the sky sparkled and the harbour glowed, and Baizhu was happy.
Tonight, he feels the absence of the man who sat with him on these stairs then. Grumbling, he reaches for the bottle of ginseng wine that has taken his place.
Light footsteps disturb him. He glances over his shoulder and catches a glimpse of purple hair and a talisman before arms wrap around his neck.
“I love you the most,” Qiqi deadpans, before releasing him and scurrying away again.
The bottle shatters on the stairs below Bubu Pharmacy, wine spilling across the stone. Baizhu covers his face with his hands and weeps.