Chapter Text
On the morning of the Moonchase Festival, Gaming wakes up to the sound of his phone pinging, and somewhere along the lines of twenty unread messages in the group chat. Most of the commotion seems to be Hu Tao’s fault: she’s sent an extremely long copypasta, starting with a relatively innocuous ZHŌNG QIŪ KUÀI LÈ 😩❗️❗️ and ending with something along the lines of Send this to someone you want to make a match 🕯️ with 🥵 and if you get 8️⃣ back you’ll be moonCAKED 🥮 UP ⬆️🆙 all winter long! 👅🍑
It looks like she’d sent it at precisely one minute past midnight. Judging by the resigned i guess we should have expected this, huh from Chongyun, sent a few minutes later, it seems like this sort of thing is relatively common. Gaming, who’d been asleep already at the time these messages were sent, scrolls through the rest of the group chat’s messages of laughter and fond exasperation. The text that woke him up turns out to be five sobbing emojis in a row, sent from Xiangling.
Just as he catches up, a couple more texts roll in: Xiangling texts him on the side, an apologetic sorry gaming i should have warned you, she does this literally every holiday, at the same time Hu Tao texts, Gooood morning ! Everybody clap it’s Gaming’s first slutty holiday copypasta !!!
Gaming replies to Xiangling first: don’t worry about me, you’ve got a competition to win today! 😄 And then to the group chat: wow what an honor? I think??? happy Moonchase! see you guys later!!
With all his messages answered, Gaming rolls out of bed, ready to face whatever the day brings. It’s fall in Liyue Harbor, which doesn’t necessarily mean it’s cold; it’s downright warm, compared to Chenyu Vale this time of year. But the temperature’s definitely inched down a handful of degrees, enough that Gaming throws a hoodie on over his t-shirt and joggers today. Outside his window, a breeze whistles through the streets, blowing a handful of golden leaves off the trees.
Even though it’s a performance day, his morning routine goes mostly unchanged: he goes for a run around Chihu Rock, only pausing halfway through to shrug his hoodie off and tie it around his waist. On his way home, he deviates from his usual route to swing by Second Life for a bag of oranges and Su Er’niang’s stall for a steaming-hot Mora meat; when he gets home, he eats breakfast with Man Chai, watching his cat shove his entire face into his bowl with a fond smile.
Once they’re done eating, Gaming triple-checks all his stuff. He tests the mechanisms on his wushou head, making sure the mouth opens properly and the eyes flutter the way they’re supposed to. Next, he turns his attention to his performance clothes, which have been lying at the foot of his bed since last night; he runs a lint roller over the cloth one last time to catch any stray hairs Man Chai might’ve left behind, then packs them away neatly into his backpack.
His preparations done, he carries his backpack out to the hallway, squatting down to say goodbye to Man Chai. “I’m heading out. Wish me luck out there, Man Chai.”
Man Chai meows, butting his head up against Gaming’s hand. Gaming acquiesces to his silent demand, scritching his cat behind his ears. “Aw, thanks for the support, buddy. I’ll bring you back some fish tonight, okay?”
Man Chai purrs loudly at the prospect.
“Yeah, I knew you’d be happy about that,” Gaming says fondly. “Keep an eye on things here at home for me, alright? I’ll see you later.”
He stands up, slinging his backpack over his shoulders, and pushes the door open.
Moonchase festivities are happening all around the city today, but Masterful Chefs is uptown in Yujing Terrace. Technically, the competition started last night; the judges acknowledged that some of Liyue’s finest dishes take more time than a typical cooking competition allows for, and let the contestants into the kitchen yesterday to prep. No stoves could be left on once the chefs exited the kitchen, of course, but they had lots of time to prepare their ingredients and, uh… get their mise in place, or whatever it is they say in Fontaine. (Hey, Gaming might have lived as close as you can get to Fontaine while still being geographically in Liyue, but that doesn’t mean he knows any Fontainian.)
The chefs aren’t allowed back into the kitchen just yet, though; the final phase of the competition starts in an hour. If Gaming knows Xiangling, though, she’s probably at the venue already, chomping at the bit to be let back into the kitchen. When he arrives, though, she’s nowhere in sight. There’s a large white tent just outside the venue, with a handful of unfamiliar faces milling about the entrance, and a handful of staff putting up rope dividers for where attendees will queue up later. A few meters away from them, though, Gaming spots a familiar face, pacing the parking lot.
“Hey, Chef!” Gaming calls out, jogging over.
“Gaming! Good morning.” Chef Mao raises a hand in greeting. “Are you here to wish Xiangling luck?”
“Yep!”
“Will you be okay on time? I know your performance is tonight.”
“No worries, Chef!” Gaming flashes him a thumbs up, grinning. “Our call time’s an hour after the competition ends, so I have plenty of time to get down to Feiyun Slope. I gotta be here in person when Xiangling takes back her crown!”
Chef Mao smiles fondly. “I see.”
A breeze whistles through the parking lot, stirring up the leaves at their feet. Chef Mao watches one leaf fly away on the wind, then turns to Gaming.
“I don’t think I’ve ever said so before, but… Thank you. For believing in her.”
“Huh?” Gaming blinks. “I dunno if that’s something you need to thank me for, Chef. Why wouldn’t I?”
“You say that because you weren’t here yet when she was blowing up woks once a month,” Chef Mao says ruefully. “In seriousness… Well, you know Xiangling. If she really wants to do something, she’ll do it. But I think you and I both know it’s much easier to follow your dreams when there are people who believe in you.”
“You… and I?” Gaming tilts his head to the side.
Chef Mao nods. “When I was a little younger than you are now, I was courting Xiangling’s mother…”
Gaming, for a brief, panicked second, wonders if this will be the moment when Chef Mao acknowledges Gaming’s not-so-platonic feelings toward his daughter. He doesn’t know if he can make it through that conversation right now.
But Chef Mao just continues, a faraway look in his eyes, “Her parents thought I was nice, but they wanted the best for their daughter—what parents don’t? They knew that we wanted to open the Wanmin, and they knew that getting a restaurant off the ground would be hard work. Especially in Chihu Rock, where you can’t throw a stone without hitting a restaurant or a food stall. They wanted better for her than that.”
“But the Wanmin is such a fixture of the neighborhood,” Gaming blurts out. “I literally can’t imagine Chihu Rock without it.”
His outburst is enough to startle Chef Mao out of the faraway look in his eyes. He smiles at Gaming. “Well, I’m glad to hear you think so. Back then, though, the two of us were just kids with big dreams. Her parents didn’t approve, and mine didn’t, either. My folks were workers down at the docks, you see—it was hard work, but steady. No matter what happens in Liyue Harbor, there’ll always be shipments coming in and going out, you know? Compared to that, starting up a restaurant is… not quite so stable.”
“Yeah,” Gaming says. Years’ worth of his father’s words echo in his head: Are you really going to be able to support yourself doing something like that? He shakes his head, trying to dismiss the thought. “I know how that goes.”
Chef Mao nods. “And you know how the story ends. We went against our parents’ wishes, struck out on our own, and opened the Wanmin, although Xiangling’s mother… didn’t get to see quite how successful we’d become, in the end.
“I suppose all of that is to say that I know, from experience, that having even just one person in your corner makes it much, much easier. And while Xiangling has always had a lot of people in her corner, I’m glad that now she has you, too.”
“I mean, I gotta thank her for believing in me, too. And you too, Chef!” The words come easily to Gaming. “Both of you—I don’t think I’d be here today without everything the two of you have done for me. Heck, I might never have even found my apartment if you hadn’t found me on the street that day. I really owe you guys one.”
“Let’s not think of it like a debt. You would have found your way eventually,” Chef Mao says kindly. “And you’ve helped quite a few people since you came to Liyue Harbor—my daughter included, if her plans for this competition are any indication. Do you feel like any of them owe you something for your help?”
“No, but…”
“Then it’s the same way for us, isn’t it? And not just us, either—you’ve really become a part of this city, in the year you’ve been here.” He pauses. When he speaks again, there's a reflective tone in his voice: “It’s easy to feel alone, coming to a city as large as Liyue Harbor. But I think whether you’re in the largest of Liyue’s cities or the smallest of its villages, you’re never truly on your own out there. The bonds each of us forge with the people around us are as numerous as the fish in the sea—and they’re the reason why each of us has made it to where we are today. I’m just glad we could help you on your way, and I know Xiangling is, too.”
He pats Gaming on the shoulder, a look of almost-parental fondness lighting up his face. “My, I’ve rambled for quite a while now, haven’t I? Thank you for humoring this old man. Since you’re here to wish Xiangling luck, I won’t keep you much longer. I know today’s also a big day for you and your troupe, though. Just remember…”
He trails off thoughtfully, then raises his chin, looking Gaming directly in the eyes.
“No matter who shows up to tell you the path you’ve chosen is wrong, just hold on to your dream. Chase it with all your might. A fierce suanni fights until the very end—isn’t that the saying?”
He looks almost apologetic, for some reason. Gaming’s not quite sure why. He nods, a little confused. Before he can ask any questions, Chef Mao switches subjects briskly: “Alright. They have a waiting area for the competitors set up in that tent over there. Just tell the man at the door you’re there to wish Xiangling luck, and he’ll let you through. And…”
Chef Mao hesitates, then steps forward, pulling Gaming into a brief hug. Clapping him on the back, he says, “Break a leg out there tonight, son. We’ll all be cheering for you.”
Gaming swallows around the lump in his throat and hugs him back. “Thanks, Chef.”
There’s a familiar-looking man standing at the entrance to the chefs’ waiting area. After a second, Gaming recognizes him from the family lunches he’s crashed a handful of times since Auntie Xianyun dragged him along to that first one in April. “Good morning, Uncle Zhongli!” he says brightly.
“Here to see Xiangling, then? Go on.” Zhongli waves him inside the tent with a smile. “And you have a performance later today as well, I hear. Quite a day for both of you, isn’t it?”
“Yep! Come see us later—we’ll knock your socks off!”
“I look forward to it. I wish you and your troupe all the best.”
“Thanks, Uncle!” Gaming grins, and ducks inside the tent. It’s only after he gets inside that Zhongli’s words register—Here to see Xiangling, then? Quite a day for both of you, isn’t it? It seems like he and Xiangling have become a singular unit in Zhongli’s mind (and probably a lot of the aunties’ and uncles’ minds, if he’s being realistic.) He doesn’t have too much time to ponder how transparent his not-so-new feelings might be to the general populace of Liyue Harbor, though; he’s got a special delivery to make right now.
The tent is surprisingly spacious and well-equipped. A set of plastic folding tables along one wall hold an assortment of snacks, water bottles, and cardboard cartons of coffee with accompanying paper cups. In one corner, a group of staff members are circled up, probably doing some sort of pre-show briefing. Smiley Yanxiao is near the coffee cartons, talking with someone Gaming thinks might be one of Yanfei's cousins; Xiangling is sitting by herself on a folding chair, scrolling through something on her phone. Gaming fishes in his belt bag for his present, and then steps forward.
“Good morning, Xiangling!”
Xiangling glances up at him, startled. Her eyes widen with surprise, and then crinkle up at the corners as she grins. “Morning, Gaming! What brings you here?”
“Wishing you luck, of course! Making a special delivery, just for you.” He takes a seat on the folding chair next to her, holding out his special delivery: a pair of mandarin oranges. “A little pre-competition snack… although now that I look at the setup here, I guess you probably don’t need it. But here you go! You and I both know there’s a whole bunch of foods you could eat for good luck, but this is the only one I know I can do just as well as you can.”
(Which is to say that both of them can only get oranges from the grocery store. But Gaming will take wins where he can get them.)
Xiangling takes the oranges from him, her fingers brushing against his, and then sets about peeling one of them. She digs her pointer fingernail under the skin, peeling all of it off in one neat strip, and then hands the peeled orange back to him. “Here, for you!”
“This is your good luck gift,” Gaming protests, “I can’t just take it—”
Xiangling presses it into his hands insistently, then starts in on peeling the second one. “You need the good luck today, too!” she says, matter-of-factly. “Honestly, I’m glad you stopped by. I was worried I wouldn’t get to talk to you before your performance. I know you guys all have to leave, like, the minute the competition ends to make it to sound check on time.”
She finishes peeling her orange, sweeps both peels into a neat pile. “So! Share the good luck with me! Today’s a big day for both of us!”
“Yeah, okay, can’t argue with that. Thanks, Xiangling.” Gaming digs his thumbs into the seam between two orange slices, splitting the orange neatly in half, and pops half of it into his mouth. The juice bursts over his tongue as he bites down. He chews, and swallows, and asks, “So, what do you have on the menu for today?”
“It’s a secret,” Xiangling says, around the orange slice in her own mouth. “Can’t tell you right now, my competition is present! You’ll find out at the same time he does!”
She goes quiet, pulling the slices of her orange apart with a thoughtful air. Surrounded by the low hum of conversations around them, they eat their oranges quietly. Finally, after he finishes his orange, Gaming breaks the silence. “Are you nervous?”
Xiangling shakes her head. “Win or lose, I just want to cook something I’m proud of. And—no spoilers, but this year, I think I’m gonna do just that.”
A second goes by, and then as an afterthought, she adds, “I hope I win, though. That’d be pretty cool.” She picks a bit of orange peel out from beneath her fingernail, then turns the question back on him. “What about you? Are you nervous?”
“Nah,” Gaming says, and means it. “Whatever happens out there, I’m just gonna have fun with it. Can’t show Liyue Harbor how cool wushou dance is if I’m shaking in my boots the whole time!”
“That’s the spirit,” Xiangling grins. “Okay. Let’s have fun with it today, and put on a show we’re proud of!”
She holds her fist out, and he bumps his fist against hers, smiling. A handful of steps away, one of the staff members clears their throat, cupping their hands around their mouth, and announces, “Chefs! Five minutes to doors!”
The low hum of conversation around them swells into an anxious buzz. Gaming glances around, and then says, “I should probably get outta here, huh. I think everybody else might be in line already, and you probably need a sec to get in the zone, don’t you?”
“I think Chongyun said they’re about to get in line, yeah. But before you go…”
Xiangling visibly fumbles for words for a second, and then steps forward, throwing her arms around him in a tight hug. “Thanks for coming to cheer me on,” she says, half into his shoulder. “It means a lot, you know.”
Gaming’s a little startled, and his heart thuds so loudly he’s sure Xiangling can hear it, but his arms come up and he hugs her back anyway. “Of course. We’ll all be in the audience cheering you on.”
They hang there for a few seconds past what Gaming might think of as platonically appropriate. He tries not to think too much about it. Eventually, she lets go, stepping back, and he smiles down at her. “I’ll see you later.”
By the time Gaming leaves the competitors’ waiting area, there’s at least forty or fifty people lined up outside the venue, waiting for the doors to open. His friends are somewhere in that line; he pulls out his phone, thumbing through the group chat to see if anyone’s dropped their location recently, and walks forward, paying minimal attention to his surroundings.
“Gaming?” someone says, just to his side.
It’s a voice Gaming knows all too well—one that belongs to someone who absolutely shouldn’t be here. Gaming freezes, and his head jerks up, and then his eyes go wide as he makes eye contact with the speaker, standing somewhere near the middle of the line.
“Bàhbā?” he blurts out. “What are you doing here?”
“Chef Mao told me his daughter was competing,” his father says. “That’s… the girl I talked to, isn’t she?”
“Chef Mao told you? You talked to him?” Gaming frowns, and then abruptly remembers how Chef Mao had said something kind of vague and ominous along the lines of No matter who shows up… Maybe he’d been trying to warn Gaming, or maybe trying to apologize—
Wait. That’s not important right now. Gaming squishes down those questions for later and turns his focus back to his father. “No, wait, I mean, what are you doing here in Liyue Harbor? Are you even supposed to be traveling right now?”
“It’s been nearly nine months since the accident,” Bàhbā huffs. “The doctor gave me a clean bill of health at my last checkup, I’ll have you know. In any case, I’m here on business: there was an international conference of tea suppliers here in Liyue Harbor this week, and I attended to represent Qiaoying Village’s tea farmers.”
“‘Was’?” Gaming echoes. “So, uh, why didn’t you go back home for Moonchase, then?”
“I have one more meeting in person before I leave the city.” Bàhbā shifts his weight from one foot to another, leaning a little more heavily on his good leg. Before Gaming can call attention to it, or ask if he needs to sit down, he goes on. “Chef Mao reached out to me about establishing a business partnership. His restaurant seems to be branching out into Chenyu Vale cuisine, and they need a dedicated supplier of tea leaves… and from what he said, the leaves from our family’s business have been proven quite good.”
A moment of silence stretches out between them as Gaming struggles to wrap his head around everything he’s just learned, and then Bàhbā says begrudgingly, “And, from what I hear, I suppose I have you to thank for that. Quite the salesman, aren’t you? You know—”
“That’s not what I was trying to do,” Gaming interrupts, before his father can launch into his all-too-familiar spiel about job openings at the family business. “I just wanted to bring back some as a gift for Xiangling, ‘cause she loves cooking so much. I didn’t know…”
He trails off. I didn’t know it would bring you to Liyue Harbor, he doesn’t say.
His father seems to pick up the general sentiment, anyway. “In any case,” he says, after a minute, “Chef Mao and I are meeting tomorrow. But he invited me to come watch the competition today. Said it might give me an idea of what the Wanmin would like to make with our tea leaves.”
“Huh. I… guess that makes sense,” Gaming says. He supposes that pulls the curtain back a little bit on Xiangling’s upcoming menu.
Bàhbā nods. “So I’m here. I’d much rather be home for the Moonchase Festival, though… Liyue Harbor is much too loud for my tastes. I don’t understand why you would choose to live all the way down here.”
It’s a familiar complaint, one that was the prelude to most of their fights when Gaming was back home earlier this year. Gaming feels tension settling in his shoulders, tightening his jaw—but his father doesn’t say anything more on the subject, surprisingly. Maybe it’s because they’re in public, within earshot of everyone standing in line. Instead, Bàhbā says, “I’m looking forward to the competition. I hope all that cooking advice I gave you—and all those tea leaves you took from the fields, don’t think I didn’t notice that—will be of some use.”
“It will,” Gaming says, with conviction. “Xiangling’s an amazing chef. Whatever she spins up, it’s gonna knock the judges’ socks off.”
His father studies him for a long moment. “It sounds like you really believe in her. And she really believes in you, too, doesn’t she?”
He’s thinking, no doubt, of his only interaction with Xiangling to date: that phone call, back in April. The one where Xiangling looked his father in the eye and said, I’ve… heard you guys don’t see eye to eye on everything, but still, I think you have a lot to be proud of. The one where she turned to Gaming and smiled and Gaming realized, like he’d been whacked over the head, that he liked her.
“That Xiangling… She seems like a good kid,” Bàhbā says, startling Gaming out of his thoughts. It’s one of the highest compliments he can give one of Gaming’s friends—one Gaming doesn’t think he’s heard since he made friends with Lan Yan back in elementary school. “It’s… good you have a friend like her.”
“She is,” Gaming says. “I’m real lucky to have her. Uh, as a friend, I mean.”
His father looks at him a little suspiciously. Before Gaming can dig himself in any deeper, someone hollers from the line, “Gaming! Hey, Gaming!”
Both he and his father look up to see his friends near the end of the line. Hu Tao and Xinyan are waving their arms at him, catching not only Gaming’s attention but the attention of pretty much everyone around them; Chongyun, a few steps behind them, is making a valiant but ultimately unsuccessful attempt to pretend that he doesn’t know them. “C’mon,” Hu Tao calls, “sit with us!”
Silently thankful for their intervention, Gaming gestures awkwardly to his friends. “I. Um. I should get going. I’ll… see you around, Bàhbā.”
He’d like to tell his father to come see his performance tonight. To show that he’s grown in his time away from home, to prove that coming out here to bring wushou dance to Liyue Harbor was worth it. But he knows how that’d go over, so after a second, he just says, “Enjoy the festival.”
After a long, long pause, his father says, “You too.”
The Masterful Chefs venue is a basketball arena for most of the year, which means it’s got seating on all four sides, with large screens hanging from the ceiling at the center of the court. Cameras trained on each station allow spectators to watch any competitor on the big screens; a row of tables along one side, right where a referees’ table might usually sit, must be reserved for the judges. A protective covering sits atop the court, and on top of that sit two workstations, each set up with a stove, a refrigerator, a well-stocked pantry, and all the cooking implements a chef might ever need.
Gaming’s friends make a beeline for seats in the front, closest to what must be Xiangling’s workstation. As they take their seats, right along the railing, Gaming notices that Yanfei’s not with them, and no one’s even saving a seat for her; before he can ask where she is, a voice rings out over the speakers, “Good morning, everyone!”
“Whoo!” Hu Tao cheers, even though there’s nothing particularly exciting about someone saying good morning.
“Please go ahead and take your seats,” the announcer says, her voice oddly familiar. Gaming places it after a second as Yanfei, and spots her on the floor a moment later, sitting at the end of the judges’ table, microphone in hand. “The final round of the Masterful Chefs competition will begin shortly!”
All around them, Gaming sees the rest of the audience taking their seats. It’s not super crowded just yet—only about half the seats are filled right now. Maybe more folks will file in later.
“Once again, good morning!” Yanfei says, as a few stragglers scurry to their seats. “By the appointment of the organizing committee, I’m your host and officiator, Yanfei. Welcome to the finale of this year’s Masterful Chefs competition!”
Cheers ring out through the audience, Hu Tao’s some of the loudest of all. Yanfei pauses to let the cheering die down, and then goes on, “The Moonchase Festival honors Marchosius, the ancient God of the Stove. Legend has it that long, long ago, Marchosius was the one who first taught Liyuens how to create fire and cook food. So, of course, there’s no better way to honor his spirit than to use both of his gifts to the fullest—and thus, the Masterful Chefs competition was born, twenty-five years ago this year!
“Before today’s round of competition kicks off, I’ll explain how this works, for those who haven’t watched Masterful Chefs before. Masterful Chefs invites chefs from all over Liyue to compete for the title of best chef in Liyue—along with a monetary award, the winning chef has the opportunity to showcase their skills at all sorts of upper-class events in Liyue Harbor, including but not limited to the Liyue Qixing’s annual Teyvatian New Year’s Eve celebration at the Jade Chamber.
“This year, to commemorate twenty-five years of the Masterful Chefs competition, the Moonchase Festival organizing committee decided to host a Tournament of Champions. Eight past champions competed in the initial round last week, and of those eight, two made it through to the final round. You’ll see them compete right here to determine the champion of champions today! Are you ready to meet today’s contestants?”
As the audience cheers, the cameras pan away from Yanfei and over to Xiangling, who waves from behind her station. “She’s the head chef of Chihu Rock’s Wanmin Restaurant and the Masterful Chefs 2023 champion—a little feisty with a lot of spicy, it’s Mao Xiangling!”
The audience bellows its support. Gaming cups his hands around his mouth, yelling, “Go, Xiangling!”
She glances up, locking eyes with him, and then her eyes crinkle up at the corners in a smile.
“Xiangling, the camera,” Hu Tao hollers, from next to Gaming. “Look at the camera!”
Xiangling jumps a little; she follows Hu Tao’s directions, though, tearing her eyes away from Gaming and grinning sheepishly at the camera. The camera lingers on her for a moment longer, then pans away from her, focusing in on Smiley Yanxiao.
“He’s the head—and only—chef of Wangshu Inn, and the Masterful Chefs 2024 champion. This kitchen ace will put a smile on your face—it’s Smiley Yanxiao!”
The audience cheers again, although a little more subdued than before. Xiangling definitely has home court advantage here. Smiley Yanxiao looks a little stressed, but he closes his eyes. His shoulders rise and fall as he takes a deep breath; he opens his eyes again, looking slightly calmer, and waves at the camera.
“Our contestants had time last night to prepare, and today they’ll have one hour to finish cooking and plating their dishes to present to our judges. Today, we have a select panel of three judges, as well as a randomly selected panel of ten judges from the audience—”
“She says it’s random, but they’re definitely not gonna pick us,” Hu Tao whispers to Gaming. “They know we’re biased.”
“—who will each vote for the chef they believe made the best meal,” Yanfei continues, over Hu Tao. “The head of our select panel is of course a woman who needs no introduction, but I’ll do one anyway: the Tianquan of the Liyue Qixing, Lady Ningguang! The other judges on this year’s panel are both learned individuals with a deep knowledge of good food: Mr. Huang Zhongli, a consultant at the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor, and Dr. Liu Xianyun, a professor of mechanical engineering at the University of Liyue.”
“That’s my employee!” Hu Tao cheers. Zhongli’s gaze flicks upward toward her, a look of fond exasperation flickering across his face.
“Is it weird that two of the judges are related?” Gaming asks.
“In terms of selection, yes,” Xingqiu says. “The organizing committee probably could have cast a wider net.”
“Getting Ningguang-jiě probably took up most of their bargaining power, honestly,” Xinyan mumbles. “Or their budget. Or both.”
“But in terms of bias,” Hu Tao shrugs, “not at all. Those two definitely aren’t afraid to disagree with each other, so if they do agree on something, then that chef will have made a really good dish.”
As the applause dies down, Yanfei says, “And with that, I’ll hand it off to the head of our judging panel, Lady Ningguang.”
Ningguang leans forward into her microphone. “Chefs. Your time begins now.”
Both Xiangling and Smiley Yanxiao leap into action, pulling their prepared ingredients out. A buzz of conversation fills the arena as the audience watches the chefs; Yanfei keeps up a running commentary as well, alternating between describing Smiley Yanxiao and Xiangling’s actions.
Despite all the noise around her, Xiangling seems to have tuned the rest of the world out: she’s completely focused on the fish she’s chopping into little cubes. With single-minded efficiency, she chops up a handful of Jueyun chilies—to Gaming’s side, Chongyun flinches—and mixes them in with what looks like dried violetgrass and a handful of other seasonings, flash-frying them for a minute in hot oil before scooping them into a blender with the fish cubes. Once the fish and the seasonings have all been pureed into a paste, she forms it into little balls, inserting them into hollowed-out pieces of blanched nai bai, a variant of bok choy with white stems instead of the usual green. Each dumpling is tied off with a strand of blanched ong choy, water spinach, and then placed carefully in a steamer basket.
To her side, a pot of soup simmers, tofu and vegetables cooking away. She rolls out her wrists, then turns her attention to a wok covered in aluminum foil. She removes the foil covering to reveal four smoked squab, a little bit of smoke wafting up and out of the wok. With the fearlessness of a professional, she slides them one at a time into a wok full of boiling hot oil, frying each of them for a few minutes. Just as she removes the last squab from the wok and turns off the stove, Yanfei announces, “Chefs, you have ten minutes remaining.”
Xiangling and Smiley Yanxiao both flash thumbs-ups in acknowledgment. Xiangling sticks a spoon into the soup, taking a sip, and frowns a little. She makes a beeline for the pantry, rummaging through until she resurfaces with a bottle of something.
It’s fish sauce, Gaming realizes after a moment. She tips the bottle, adding a glug of it to the jewelry soup, then tastes it again. By the satisfied look on her face, it’s just what she’d needed.
The audience is jam-packed now, and buzzing with anticipation; more people must have entered the arena while Gaming was watching the chefs at work. The judges from the audience seem to have been randomly selected, too; they file into their seats, five on each side of the judges’ table. On the competition floor, both Xiangling and Smiley Yanxiao are scrambling to finish plating their dishes in the few remaining seconds they have.
“Five! Four! Three! Two! One!” the audience bellows.
“And that’s time!” Yanfei calls out. “Chefs, please step away from your stations.”
Both chefs step back from their stations; Smiley Yanxiao raises his hands in acknowledgment, and Xiangling settles hers on her hips, surveying her dishes with pride. A couple of staff members emerge with dim sum carts, loading the dishes up to be carted across the floor, and set a place in front of each judge.
“Alright!” Yanfei steps out from behind the judges’ table, detaching her microphone from its stand as she goes. “Smiley Yanxiao, you’re first up. What’s on the menu for us today?”
Smiley Yanxiao steps forward, taking the microphone Yanfei offers him. “Good morning, judges. Today I have for you adeptus’ temptation with a mint salad and golden shrimp balls…”
“Ooh,” says Hu Tao, as Smiley Yanxiao goes on to explain the rationale behind his menu. “That’s a strong menu. Adeptus’ temptation might win over Zhongli-yéye… And if Keqing-jiě was judging this year, he’d win her vote with golden shrimp balls alone. She loves those.”
“He made golden shrimp balls last year, though,” Xingqiu observes.
“Yeah,” Chongyun nods. “I remember ‘cause Xiangling wouldn’t stop talking about them for at least a month after.”
Yun Jin frowns. “Do you think the judges might knock off points for repeating dishes?”
“I mean, you gotta play to your own strengths, right?” Xinyan shrugs. “The man obviously makes a damn good golden shrimp ball, if even Xiangling couldn’t stop talking about ‘em.”
Yanfei glances longingly at the golden shrimp balls sitting untouched at her place at the table. Ever the professional, though, she stays on track: “Next, we have Mao Xiangling. What have you got for us today?”
“Good morning, judges!” Xiangling says brightly, taking Yanfei’s microphone. “Today, I’m serving you jade parcels, tea-smoked squab, and jewelry soup. Instead of ham, these jade parcels use black-back perch, with the same seasonings I use to make the Wanmin’s famous black-back perch stew. The squab was prepared with single-origin yauwan leaves from Qiaoying Village…”
Here, it feels like everyone around him turns to look at Gaming. Gaming keeps his eyes fixed on Xiangling, feeling his face start to heat up under their inquisitive gazes.
“…and the jewelry soup is something lighter and milder, to complement the spice and bitterness of the other two dishes. I hope you enjoy the meal!”
The judges start eating. Some polish off their entire plate within minutes; others take their time, savoring each flavor. Zhongli has a particularly thoughtful look on his face, like he’s breaking down the dish into all its component ingredients in his head. Finally, after about ten minutes, the select panel and the audience judges convene in separate groups, conversing in hushed tones as Yanfei listens intently.
“Everyone,” she says finally, “the judges have made their decision. I’m pleased to announce…”
Her face breaks out into a huge, proud smile, stretching nearly ear to ear, and Gaming knows the result before it even leaves her mouth.
“Our champion of champions, and the winner of Masterful Chefs 2025, is none other than… Mao Xiangling!”
Gaming’s on his feet before he realizes it, cheering as loudly as he can. Around him, the audience explodes in cheers; Xiangling’s home court advantage is clear as day. As the judges hand over a giant trophy to Xiangling, and camera flashes go off like so many tiny explosions, Hu Tao yanks on Gaming’s sleeve. “C’mon, c’mon. Let’s go congratulate her!”
She scrambles over the railing in front of their seats, followed by Gaming and the rest of their friends, as if they’re swarming the floor after a championship win. They land on the floor gracelessly, sprint across the floor towards Xiangling; when they’re just a few paces away, someone puts their hands on Gaming’s back and pushes. He stumbles forward, and Xiangling sets her trophy aside to catch him up in a big hug.
“You did it!” he crows, throwing his arms around her. “I knew you’d win!”
Xiangling grins, big and bright. “It’s your turn to knock Liyue Harbor’s socks off now!”
The rest of their friends give them a second longer, and then pile in for a giant group hug, all laughing and yelling congratulations over each other.
“Guys!” Xiangling exclaims, trying to get words out through her laughter. “Half of you have to get down to the amphitheater for sound check! Your call time’s in an hour!”
“Shit, you’re right,” Xinyan exclaims.
“Wait!” Someone with a Steambird logo on their cap waves at them frantically, brandishing their camera with the other. “Before you go—Xiangling, can we get a photo of all of you together? With the trophy, too, of course!”
They quickly gather for a photo. Xiangling stands in the center, proudly brandishing the trophy, her eyes almost shut with how widely she’s grinning. Gaming stands on one side, his arm around her shoulders, and the rest of their friends crowd in around them. Hu Tao winks and flashes double peace signs, Xinyan holds up her hands in double rock on hand signs, and the rest of their friends smile nicely, and the camera flashes rapidly, several times in succession.
As Gaming’s blinking the spots out of his eyes, Yun Jin says apologetically, “I hate to interrupt, but we really do need to get to sound check.”
“She’s right. C’mon, guys.” Xinyan throws one arm over Yun Jin’s shoulders and the other over Hu Tao’s, starting to shuffle them off the competition floor and toward the doors. Over her shoulder, she calls, “Gaming, you drove here, right? We’ll see ya there.”
And then they’re gone, and he’s left alone with Xiangling—well, not so alone. They’re still standing in the middle of the competition floor, with a handful of the audience’s curious eyes still on them.
“I couldn’t have done this without you, you know,” Xiangling says quietly. “I…”
“You…?” Gaming trails off, attempting to keep his tone level even as his heart makes a concerted effort to beat out of his chest.
Xiangling glances around, and then shakes her head. “Never mind. I’ll tell you after your show. You’ve got a sound check to get to! Break a leg out there tonight, okay? I’ll be cheering you on.”
She puts her hands on his shoulders, giving him a gentle push in the direction of the doors. He goes obediently, but looks back over his shoulder at her, flashing her a grin. “I’ll see you later.”
The Moonchase Festival performances are in the huge open-air amphitheater where Xinyan did her Lantern Rite show back in January. Gaming, stuck back in Qiaoying, could only dream of being in the audience for that show, living vicariously through the videos from Xiangling’s cell phone camera. Tonight, though, he’s on the stage, opening for a set that includes the likes of the Yun-Han Opera Troupe and Xinyan. Life is kinda funny like that, sometimes.
It’s dark when they take the stage, the stage lights still dim above them. A couple of steps behind Gaming, Dip Yeuk crouches beneath the back half of the suanni costume; across the stage from them, two of the other guys from the troupe hold up the Mighty Mythical Beasts’ other suanni. Just behind them stands Xiaqing, their lead drummer, flanked by the troupe’s other percussionists—a gong player, two cymbal players, three of the usual drummers, and Chongyun, a last-minute addition subbing in for their fourth drummer, who came down with the flu earlier this week. (“Xinyan roped me into playing for her too, anyway,” he’d said, when Gaming called him in a panic. “Don't worry about it. For this, as long as I have someone to follow, I can keep a beat just fine.”)
Through the mouth of the wushou head, the world narrows only to what’s in front of Gaming: the percussionists, and the other suanni, and the array of high poles onstage. The stage lights come up, and Xiaqing taps out a rapid drumroll, swelling into a steady beat as the other drummers join in.
A gong rings out through the air. Gaming raises his suanni’s head, fluttering the eyes and opening the mouth wide in a roar, and the other suanni across from him does the same. Behind him, Dip Yeuk’s hands close around his waist; in a move they’ve practiced countless times, Gaming leaps upward, hitting a crane stance in midair, and Dip Yeuk lifts him high. From where he’s held aloft, Gaming raises the suanni’s head in a roar once again, a challenge to the other suanni.
The two suanni circle each other, then launch into battle. It’s a choreographed routine they’ve gone through time and time again; in unison, he and Dip Yeuk lunge forward and attack, then dodge and roll away as the other suanni attempts to launch a counterattack. They play the battle out for a few minutes more, the drums crescendoing and the cymbals crashing as the fight intensifies, and then, as a gong crashes, Gaming kicks his left leg out, sweeping the other suanni’s front legs out from beneath it. It goes tumbling to the ground in an exaggerated fall, and then scrambles to its feet, hanging its head in defeat. After a moment, it scampers offstage to loud applause. Gaming turns away from the other suanni as it goes, fixing his eyes on the high poles.
Dip Yeuk lifts Gaming up once again, and he lands solidly atop the first pole with ease. He steps forward, vacating the pole for Dip Yeuk to jump up. The two of them make their way up the array of poles, stepping forward and back in time to the drums with coordination born out of hundreds of hours of practice. Once they find their footing, they step up their performance, spinning and swinging themselves between the poles, performing tricks that leave the audience gasping.
There are three sets of poles, in total, each of them progressively taller than the last. Between the last poles of the first set and the first poles of the second set, there’s a pair of wires, strung taut enough that the dancers can walk on them. Gaming stretches one foot out, carefully testing the wires, and then pulls it back, playing the part of a cautious suanni; behind him, Dip Yeuk squats, putting them into a sitting position, and wags the suanni’s tail nervously.
“Go, suanni!” a little kid yells from the audience. “You can do it!”
The audience breaks into startled laughter. Gaming grins, shakes the wushou head in the kid’s general direction, and steps out onto the wires, Dip Yeuk right on his heels. As they reach the other side of the wires, the audience bursts into applause. Gaming turns to shake his head at the audience once again, in acknowledgment of their cheers, and that’s when he sees it. There, a handful of rows back from Xiangling and the rest of his friends, sits Chef Mao—and next to him, his father gazes up at Gaming, an unreadable look on his face.
Gaming falters. The drummers, noticing this, go silent. For a moment, it feels like the entire amphitheater is holding its breath.
Dip Yeuk has the presence of mind to squat, so it looks like the suanni is sitting once again, pondering its next course of action. From where he’s crouching atop the poles, he hisses, “Gaming? Dude, we gotta move,” and then, following Gaming’s line of sight, whispers, “Oh.”
Xiaqing must catch it too—out of the corner of the suanni’s mouth, Gaming can see the way he frowns, tracing Gaming’s line of sight to his father, sitting in the audience. But he just raises his arm, brings it down on the drum before him; the sound reverberates through the amphitheater as he starts up the beat again, slow and steady. Chongyun and the other drummers join in, matching Xiaqing’s beat, slowly crescendoing and picking up speed, as if telling Gaming to move.
Gaming holds his breath for one beat. Two. A gong crashes. He dips his head, breaking eye contact with his father, and finds himself looking directly at Xiangling.
She’s in the middle of the front row, sandwiched in between Xingqiu and Hu Tao, looking up at Gaming with wide eyes. And just behind her, there’s Auntie Xianyun and Yaoyao, and Qiqi and Dr. Baizhu and Herbalist Gui, and all of Yanfei’s entire extended family squeezed in shoulder to shoulder.
Out of nowhere, Xiangling’s voice echoes in his head, a memory of that day in the kitchen just a handful of months ago: So, until you get to prove to your dad and the rest of your family that coming down here was worth it, I’ll be cheering you on.
Xiangling meets his eyes, and then starts to clap along with the drumbeat. Around her, everyone else starts to clap along, too. The sound is nearly deafening; it reverberates through him, pounding in time with his heart in his chest.
The people clapping along—Gaming recognizes all of them, even as far away as they are. They’re uncles and aunties and neighbors and kids he’s met throughout his year in Liyue Harbor. And tonight, they’re here, supporting him.
Gratitude crashes over him like a wave. With Dip Yeuk and the rest of the Mighty Mythical Beasts behind him, and Xiangling and the rest of his new friends in his corner, and what feels like the entire city keeping the beat for him right now… Even if his dad doesn’t approve of what he’s doing with his life, Gaming might still be one of the luckiest guys in all of Liyue.
He pivots fully to face all of them, shaking the wushou head and blinking its eyes in their direction, a gesture of his gratitude. And then he turns to face his father, staring at him, unblinking. He stares right back—and then he raises the wushou head defiantly in his father’s direction, opening its mouth in a silent suanni’s roar.
Just watch me, Bàhbā.
And then he leaps back into action.
He and Dip Yeuk move as one, fluid and coordinated, moving up and down the second set of poles with ease. There are no wires between the second and third sets, just a gap maybe two meters long; they pause for just a moment to size up the distance, and then Dip Yeuk lifts him once again, launching Gaming across as the audience gasps.
Dip Yeuk follows him across in short order, swinging around as Gaming spins to land on the pole behind him. They make their way up the final set of poles; on the ground, Xiaqing changes up the beat, switching to something more urgent and demanding.
There’s a head of lettuce on the very topmost pole. Gaming dips the wushou head, making the suanni investigate it, and then reaches through the mouth to pick it up. If this were a street show, he’d have the suanni pretend to eat the lettuce, rip it up and spit it back out at the audience to bless them with future prosperity. Here, though, with all eyes on him, he can get a little fancier. Supporting the wushou head with one hand, he weighs the head of lettuce in the other, then tosses it into the air; with a perfectly timed kick, he sends it sailing through the air until it lands neatly at Xiangling’s feet in the front row.
As the audience rises to its feet, whistling and clapping and cheering, he and Dip Yeuk scamper back down the poles, then emerge from beneath the costume for a moment to take their bows. The audience’s applause grows impossibly louder. As the wushou head settles back over Gaming’s head and shoulders, though, all he can see through its mouth is Xiangling, beaming up at him.
Backstage is a blur, all hugs and high-fives and fistbumps and excited congratulations, kept to a low volume out of consideration for the representative from the Qixing about to give a speech onstage. The Mighty Mythical Beasts have finally made their debut—and on one of Liyue Harbor’s grandest stages, to boot. It’s no wonder everyone’s hyped: the performance was amazing.
After they finish changing out of their performance outfits, Gaming sends the other guys out first—“Remember, we’ll meet up back here to grab our stuff after the show ends! Dinner’s on me!” He stays in their assigned dressing room for a moment longer, just to catch his breath. Idly, he opens his phone. There are approximately twenty thousand unread notifications. He decides to check those later, dropping his phone back into the pocket of his pants.
He steps out into the twilight of the backstage hallway. There’s another figure standing at the other end of the hallway, silhouetted in the light streaming in from outside.
It’s his father.
Both of them freeze, staring at each other. Gaming sneaks his hand into his pocket and pinches his thigh, just to make sure he’s not dreaming. After a long, long minute, his father says, “Gaming. That was… a good show.”
It’s the biggest compliment he’s given Gaming on his wushou dancing in close to a decade. Taken aback feels like an understatement; his jaw literally drops in surprise, and he blinks at his father, speechless.
Bàhbā must take his silence as acknowledgment of the compliment. His brow creases, and he purses his lips. “So. You’re serious about doing this professionally, then.”
“Yes.” The word bursts out before Gaming can think twice. Well, he’s said it—he’s gotta follow through now, even if it ends in another fight. Emphatically, he nods. “Absolutely. I know what you’re going to say. It’s going to be difficult, and it’s not a stable career path at all—but this is my dream, Bàhbā, and I’m gonna see it through.”
His father pinches at the bridge of his nose. “This stubborn child…”
Gaming tenses up, bracing himself for another fight.
“But,” his father says finally, “I suppose you get that from me.”
There’s still a handful of meters between them—even longer than the gap between the second and third set of poles on the stage. Without Dip Yeuk to launch him across this gap, it’s up to Gaming alone to close this distance. He takes a cautious step forward.
“Do you remember that first wushou dance show I brought you to, when you were little?”
Gaming blinks, stopping in his tracks. “Uh, yeah. How could I ever forget it?”
He’d been really little then, maybe five or six. Way too small to see above anyone in a crowd, for sure. A famous wushou troupe from Yilong Wharf had been set to perform in Qiaoying, and his father had promised they’d go see the performance—but, when the day came, they lingered just a bit too long at dim sum, and by the time they arrived at the stage, the crowds were so dense that Gaming couldn’t see much of anything besides the backs of the people in front of him.
It was his father, then, who swept him up, letting him sit on his shoulders to see the wushou dancers. And when the suanni atop the high poles locked eyes with him, it was then that Gaming fell in love with wushou dance—that something inside him sat up and he realized that this was what he wanted to be when he grew up, and for the rest of his life after that.
“There was a time when I regretted ever taking you to see that performance.”
Harsh though his father’s words are, they’re not laced with the anger or disappointment Gaming’s come to expect. His father looks weirdly thoughtful instead. “It was that summer after your mother passed away. You fell off the high poles during a performance, and you were in the hospital for a week. I… I thought I might lose you, too, and all because I was foolish enough to introduce you to wushou dance.”
Gaming remembers—well, not a whole lot of that week, actually. He’d had a pretty terrible concussion from the fall, and was doped up on pain meds for most of that week, to boot. But he remembers the fight they had after he was discharged from the hospital: their worst fight to date, one that only worsened without his mother there to mediate between them. Gaming left home a few months later, and hadn’t been back until this year.
“You know it wouldn’t be your fault if I got injured, right?” he says quietly, taking another step forward. “I chose this life for myself. If I got hurt, it’d be on me, if anything. Just means I didn’t practice hard enough.”
“You say that,” his father shoots back, “but it’s a parent’s job to send their child down the right path. You wouldn’t have known this was a path at all, if not for me. And I’m still not sure this is a good path; I still wish you had chosen something more stable. It’s hard to make a living as a performer. You won’t be this young and nimble forever, and if you injure yourself too badly, you’ll be off the stage for good.”
Gaming bristles at the words, opening his mouth to argue back.
“But…” Bàhbā purses his lips, frowning, and finally concedes, “What you pulled off today was breathtaking. It’s clear that this makes you happy. Being here in Liyue Harbor, noisy and crowded as it is, makes you happy. Your new friends support you. So… I’ll try to understand.”
Gaming closes his mouth.
It’s not a perfect resolution—not an apology for all the fights they’ve had over the years, not by a long shot. But it’s an olive branch, extended here in the twilight of backstage.
His talk with Chef Mao, just a handful of hours ago, floats back to his mind. Every caring parent wants what’s best for their child, even though their idea of what’s best might be different from their child’s. And even parents were once kids with big dreams, too. Although it doesn’t make up for all the ways they’ve hurt each other, he thinks he gets his dad a little better, now.
He fumbles for a second, trying to put all of that into words, and then gives up. Instead, he steps forward and closes the gap between them, wrapping his dad up in a hug for the first time in years. “Thanks, Bàhbā. I’m not gonna give up on this, so… I’m glad you’re at least gonna try to understand.”
Bàhbā lets out a surprised noise, and he stands there awkwardly for a second, his arms at his sides.
“Don’t make me regret this in the future,” is all he says, even as his arms come up, and he hugs Gaming tightly. “But… to me, Gaming, you’ve always been a great kid. If this is really your dream, then I know you’ll put in the work to overcome any obstacle in your way. You’re stubborn like that, after all.”
“Just like you, right?” Gaming says, a rueful smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.
His father lets out an annoyed little huff, but only says, “Right.”
After a minute, Gaming lets go. He steps back, and then because today’s been a weird enough day for the two of them, he decides to push his luck a little farther. Grinning up at his dad, he says, “Well, remember to come watch next time I perform in Liyue Harbor.”
“I don’t need you to tell me that,” his father scoffs. Despite the harshness of his words, he reaches out tentatively, placing a careful hand on Gaming’s shoulder. “Take care of yourself, son.”
His gaze moves past Gaming to somewhere over his shoulder, and then he smiles. “It looks like someone else is here for you, too. Don’t keep her waiting.”
Gaming turns around just as Xiangling crashes into him, throwing her arms around him once again. “Gaming! You were amazing out there! When you and Dip Yeuk jumped across that gap, I was on the edge of my seat—and when you kicked the lettuce up in the air and it landed right in front of me, that was so cool—”
She lets go and steps back, an excited gleam still in her eyes. Gaming briefly mourns her absence. He’s gotten to hug Xiangling a lot today. It’s… really nice. (Even if her hair does smell like Jueyun chili powder, and he finds himself overcome with the sudden urge to sneeze.)
Behind Gaming, there’s the sound of a door opening and closing. Xiangling cranes her neck to look over his shoulder, squinting, and then says, “The man who just left… that was your dad, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah. He…”
The enormity of the past few minutes crashes over Gaming like a wave.
“He said it was a good show. He said my performance was breathtaking, Xiangling,” he whispers, disbelieving. “He said… he could see that wushou dance made me happy, that he was gonna try to understand… Gods, am I dreaming? Can you pinch me?”
“You’re not dreaming.” Xiangling grabs his hand and squeezes it, her eyes wide and sparkling with pride. “You really did show him it was worth it, after all.”
“Thanks, Xiangling.” He squeezes her hand back. “I don’t think I would’ve made it here if not for you.”
Xiangling shakes her head emphatically. “You did all the work to get yourself here! I just gave you some encouragement along the way, is all.”
“Okay, but like, if your dad hadn’t found me on the street outside the Wanmin, I might still be wandering Chihu Rock to this day looking for my apartment.” She laughs. He can’t hold back the smile that spreads across his own face at the sight—he’s gotten to see her smile a lot today, too, which is almost even better than getting to hug her. “For real, though. You and your dad… All your support’s meant a lot. And it’s ‘cause of your dad that my dad’s even here today. We might never have had this talk otherwise. I dunno if I can ever pay back everything your family’s done for me—”
“It’s not a debt. Just us taking care of each other,” Xiangling cuts in, sounding very much like her father in that moment. She clasps Gaming’s hand between both of hers. “I… I wouldn’t have made it here if not for you, either. That’s what I wanted to tell you, earlier. That recipe for tea-smoked squab… it’s the one from your mother’s recipe notebook. And those leaves you gave me in January—I used the last of them to smoke the squab this morning. I owe part of this win to your family, too. Thank you.”
She smiles softly at him. Gaming’s mouth opens and closes soundlessly. His heart pounds in his chest, even louder than when he was performing.
Xiangling blinks, tilting her head to the side. She still hasn’t let go of his hand. “Gaming? Something on your mind?”
Riding the high of post-performance adrenaline, and the relief of having kind of reconciled with his dad, and the exhilaration that surges through him every time he sees her smile, Gaming’s mouth moves before his brain can catch up.
“I think I’m in love with you.”
Xiangling gapes at him, speechless for once. Gaming’s brain catches up with his mouth, wondering if he’s just changed things in a way he can’t take back. But he’s finally given voice to the feelings he realized almost half a year ago—he’s gotta follow through now. Nervously, he swallows, and continues.
“You said you’d cheer for me until my dad and everyone saw that me coming down here was worth it. And… I think I’ve proven it to him, and the rest of my family’s gonna see real soon. But… I don’t want you to stop cheering for me. I mean, not that I think you would. But…”
He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, fumbling to put everything he’s feeling into coherent sentences.
“In the biggest wushou dance championships back home,” he says, after a minute, “there’s one last pole, so tall that not even the most experienced dancers can make the jump to stand on top of it. It’s supposed to remind you that there’s always another mountain you’re gonna have to climb.
“I think for you it’s the same, too. Even after you won Masterful Chefs for the first time, you wanted to keep getting better. To find new ways to push yourself, and new dishes you could learn to cook. And I…”
The fingers of his other hand curl into a nervous fist. His brain and his mouth have a brief conference about their next course of action, and come out in agreement: it’s time to lay it all on the table.
“I love that about you. I love how hard you work, how you’re always trying to improve, how you’re always cheering on everyone around you. You’ve given me so much support, but I want to cheer you on, too. I wanna watch you grow even more, and become the best chef in all of Teyvat, and I wanna be there even if you lose competitions or blow up woks—”
“Did Bàba tell you about that? I haven’t blown up a wok in years, just so you know,” Xiangling complains, sounding a little choked up. But she’s smiling as she says it, so Gaming’s gonna count that as a win. He smiles softly back at her.
“I guess all of that is to say I want to keep making you smile. But even more than that, I don’t wanna mess up our friendship. If you don’t like me like that, I get it—I won’t be disappointed at all, I promise. Just the way we are right now is already more than enough for me. But… in case you feel the same way too, I thought you should know.”
Having finally run out of things to say, he shuts his mouth, waiting for her answer. She doesn’t run away screaming, or even pull her hands away, but she frowns a little. His stomach turns over nervously.
“I… You know I’ve never dated anyone before, right?” she says, finally. “I’ve been third wheeling and giving advice all these years, but I don’t have any experience to back it up.”
She casts her gaze downward and turns Gaming’s hand over in hers, a thoughtful look on her face. “In case you feel the same way, you said… I don’t know if I can put words to the way I feel about you. I don’t really understand it, myself. I can’t even point to when my feelings changed—I just know that they did, somewhere along the way.”
“Your… feelings?” Gaming echoes. Hope sparks bright in his chest.
“Yeah.” She runs a thumb idly over his knuckles, still avoiding eye contact. The tips of her ears are going red. “The way I feel about you… Something about it feels different from the way I feel about anyone else. All those things you said, about wanting to support me and make me smile—I feel the same way about you. Knowing that you’re out there, working just as hard as I am even with all the obstacles in your way… It makes me really proud of you, and it makes me want to give it my all, too. You might have achieved your first goal, but I don’t wanna stop cheering you on. I want to be there for the next performance, and the next, and the one after that, too.”
Xiangling tilts her chin upward, meeting his eyes. Her entire face is a bright, Jueyun-chili red now, but there’s nothing but determination in her gaze.
“I care about you. A lot. Just being around you makes me happy. I might not have a lot of experience with love—or, like, any at all—but I think this feeling is the closest I’ve gotten to understanding it. I don’t know how any of this works, but… if it’s with you, I’d be okay figuring things out along the way.”
“Yeah,” Gaming says, a warm feeling blossoming in his chest, a smile spreading across his face. “There’s no rush. We can figure it out together, one step at a time.”
They stand there for a second, just looking at each other. Xiangling’s got a big, goofy smile on her face, and the smile on Gaming’s face is probably just as goofy. Once again, his mouth beats his brain to the punch: “Wait, uh, does this mean we’re dating now?”
Xiangling laughs, a little ruefully. “Well, practically the entire city thinks we’re dating by now, anyway.”
“Yeah, but it’s not about what they think, is it? I mean, I hope they approve—but it’s about you and me, at the end of the day. So. What do you think?”
“First of all, they definitely approve, don’t even worry about it,” Xiangling says, fondness clearly shining through her exasperated words. “You’d know if they didn’t. But I think… I kinda like the idea of calling you my boyfriend. I think that’d be nice.”
Even though Gaming’s the one who asked the question, he feels himself going red at her answer. “Y-Yeah,” he stutters out, finally. “I think so, too.”
“Then…” She lets go of his hand. Before he can even mourn the absence of her hand in his, she stretches up on tiptoe to plant a careful kiss on his cheek. As all the blood in his body makes a concerted effort to rush to his face, she reaches out, intertwining her fingers with his, and starts pulling him along the hallway back to the audience. “C’mon. We’ve got friends to tell, and everyone’s saved you a seat. The next act’s about to start!”