Work Text:
Beneath the Lantern’s Light
The streets of Liyue Harbor thrummed with vibrant colors and unrestrained energy, as though the city itself were breathing in harmony with the Lantern Rite celebration. Delicate paper lanterns floated gently above, their warm, golden glow casting an ethereal light across cobblestone streets teeming with life. Children weaved through the crowds clutching miniature lanterns, their laughter ringing like tiny bells. The tantalizing aromas of almond tofu, grilled tigerfish, and sweet lotus pastries mingled with the crisp evening breeze, drawing festivalgoers toward bustling stalls.
Liyue Harbor seemed to outdo itself with each passing year, transforming the city into a masterpiece of light and sound. Lanterns swayed in the cool evening wind, their reflections glittering like scattered stars on the harbor’s rippling waters. The hum of the crowd filled the air, blending with the melodies of guzheng players, the clink of porcelain bowls, and the occasional peals of children’s laughter.
Tartaglia walked beside Zhongli, his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his coat. Though his foreign features and easy confidence often marked him as an outsider, tonight he seemed to blend into the festival’s warmth. For once, he wasn’t a Harbinger of the Fatui, calculating his next move. He was simply a traveler, sharing in the joy of a night that felt suspended in time.
“I have to say,” Tartaglia began, his voice laced with its usual sarcasm but softened by the evening’s atmosphere, “for a city built on contracts, you sure know how to throw a party. Is all this flair just a Liyue thing, or are all Archons secretly show-offs?”
Zhongli clasped his hands behind his back, walking with his usual composed grace. A deep, resonant chuckle escaped him. “The Lantern Rite is more than a spectacle, as you well know. It is a time to honor tradition, to reflect on the past while welcoming the future. We honor the Adepti who protect this land and guide the spirits of the departed home. These customs are the foundation of Liyue’s enduring prosperity.”
Tartaglia smirked, casting Zhongli a sidelong glance. “Tradition, huh? And here I thought it was just an excuse to light fireworks and eat too much.”
Zhongli’s amber eyes glinted with quiet amusement, his lips curving into a faint smile. “Perhaps it is both. Liyue thrives by honoring its past while celebrating its present. Even you, an outsider, have found a place here tonight—whether by chance or design.”
Tartaglia raised an eyebrow at the comment but held his tongue. Zhongli had a knack for weaving meaning into every word, making even casual remarks feel profound. It was maddening at times, but tonight it was oddly comforting. The Harbinger’s usual sharpness was subdued, replaced by a quiet unease he couldn’t quite name.
In Snezhnaya, where every gathering was steeped in strategy, festivals were colder, louder, and built on displays of strength. Here, the Lantern Rite carried a balance that disarmed him: reverence and joy, history and celebration. There was no game to play, no agenda to fulfill. It was unsettlingly peaceful.
“A place…” he murmured, before adding in a softer voice, “Maybe I have found it.”
His gaze wandered to the harbor, where golden lanterns floated across the water, their reflections shimmering like scattered stars. A wistfulness crept into his expression. “This is different from back home. There’s… something peaceful about it. Snezhnaya’s festivals are all noise and bluster—proof of strength. This feels… lighter.”
Zhongli regarded him with a calm understanding. “Peace is a luxury many do not have the chance to experience. I am glad you have found it here, even if only briefly.”
Tartaglia shrugged, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “Don’t get too philosophical, old man. You’ll ruin the mood.”
“Ah, my apologies,” Zhongli said with a soft chuckle. “In that case, allow me to ruin it further: have you made a lantern wish yet?”
Tartaglia arched an eyebrow. “A wish? Isn’t that for kids?”
“Even the most battle-hardened warrior has the right to dream,” Zhongli replied, his tone as steady as the mountains he once ruled. “What would you wish for?”
For a moment, Tartaglia said nothing, his gaze lifting to the sky just as fireworks began to bloom in bursts of gold and crimson. The light caught in his eyes as he finally spoke, his voice quieter than before. “I don’t know. I’ve spent so much of my life chasing goals that weren’t really mine. A wish feels… personal.”
Zhongli’s expression softened. “Perhaps it is not the wish itself that matters, but the act of making it. To pause and consider what truly matters to you, even if only for a fleeting moment.”
Tartaglia chuckled softly, though the sound lacked its usual edge. “You really don’t stop with the life lessons, do you?”
“I prefer to call it perspective,” Zhongli replied, his amber eyes glinting with quiet amusement.
Before Tartaglia could muster a retort, the sky erupted into a dazzling cascade of light. Fireworks burst into intricate patterns, painting the heavens with vibrant hues of gold, violet, and crimson. Their brilliance danced on the water’s surface, mirrored in shimmering perfection. The crowd gasped in collective awe, their cheers blending with the crackling of fireworks and the gentle strains of guzheng music from nearby performers.
The two stood at the edge of the harbor, slightly apart from the bustling crowd. Nearby, families released lanterns into the sky, their soft laughter and murmured wishes adding to the gentle hum of the festival. The air was cool, carrying the faint scent of incense and the salt of the sea. While the heart of the celebration pulsed with music and vibrant energy, this spot felt like an oasis of calm. From here, they could see everything—the shimmering lanterns, vivid fireworks, and the faint outlines of ships resting in the distance—without being swept up in the chaos.
“So,” Tartaglia began, breaking the spell of silence between them, “this is how the great Geo Archon spends his free time now? Lanterns and fireworks instead of battles and contracts?”
Zhongli glanced at him, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. “Even the most enduring warriors must lay down their arms at times. To partake in such traditions is not a lesser act; it is a reminder of what we protect and why. Liyue thrives not because of the battles fought, but because of the moments shared.”
Tartaglia chuckled, though there was a softness to the sound. “And here I thought you were just here for the fireworks.”
“Do not mistake my presence for idle indulgence,” Zhongli replied, his tone light, almost teasing. “But even the longest-lived must appreciate the fleeting beauty of a moment.”
The words struck something deep in Tartaglia, though he couldn’t quite name the feeling. He turned his attention back to the harbor, where lanterns continued their graceful ascent into the night sky, their warm glow growing fainter as they rose. For all Tartaglia’s bravado and restless energy, he couldn’t help but feel out of place in moments like this. Peace, for him, had always been a fleeting thing, buried beneath layers of duty, ambition, and survival. He wondered what it must be like to view the world through eyes untouched by urgency—a perspective not shaped by endless battles and the need to prove oneself. The thought unsettled him more than he cared to admit.
“You talk about moments like they’re precious,” Tartaglia murmured, his voice quieter now. “Don’t you get tired of them after living so many centuries?”
Zhongli’s gaze lingered on Tartaglia, the flickering light of the fireworks casting shadows that softened his otherwise sharp features. “Not every moment,” he said, his voice dipping into something reverent, “is as fleeting as it seems. Some linger, shaping the lives they touch long after they pass.”
The words hung between them, their weight undeniable. Tartaglia’s expression flickered with something unspoken—part curiosity, part realization—as if Zhongli’s wisdom had touched a place he hadn’t known existed.
Their conversation lulled into a comfortable silence as another firework burst overhead, its brilliance unfurling in streaks of crimson and gold. The fiery hues illuminated Zhongli’s profile, casting sharp lines of shadow and light across his features. His gaze remained steady, fixed on the sky with a calmness that seemed to root itself in the very earth beneath them.
Tartaglia caught himself staring, his blue eyes lingering longer than he intended. There was a paradoxical softness to Zhongli’s presence tonight—a quiet strength that felt more human than divine. Tartaglia knew the power that rested behind those serene amber eyes—a power that had left him awed, admiring, and, at times, vexed. Yet here and now, beneath the glowing lanterns and vibrant fireworks, Zhongli seemed less like a distant deity and more like someone tangible. Someone… reachable.
Breaking his gaze, Tartaglia turned his head slightly, letting the warm glow of the lanterns reflect in his eyes. “You know,” he began, his voice softer than usual, “after everything you’ve seen, how do you still find meaning in this? The lights, the people… it feels so small in the grand scheme of things, doesn’t it?”
Zhongli didn’t immediately answer. His focus remained on the sky, where another firework erupted in a cascade of gold. “It does,” he said finally, his voice carrying the same unshakable steadiness Tartaglia had come to recognize.
“Liyue’s people are its lifeblood,” Zhongli continued, his tone reflective yet firm. “What may seem small to you—these lights, these moments of joy—are not insignificant. They are threads in a tapestry far greater than any one person or time. To witness them is to witness the enduring spirit of a people who honor their past while forging their future. That, Tartaglia, will always have meaning.”
Tartaglia’s smirk softened into something more thoughtful. “I guess I can see why you’re so attached to this place.”
He watched Zhongli’s profile, the soft glow of the lanterns casting fleeting shadows on his features. There was something so steady about him, so grounded in a way that made Tartaglia’s usual bravado feel out of place. Zhongli’s calm presence seemed to quiet the noise inside Tartaglia’s mind, and for the first time in a long while, he found himself unsure of how to proceed.
Zhongli’s gaze shifted then, settling on Tartaglia with a quiet intensity. “And what of you?” he asked. “What keeps you here tonight, by my side?”
The question lingered in the air, and for a brief moment, Tartaglia hesitated. He could feel the weight of it—not just the words but the way Zhongli looked at him, as though expecting an answer that mattered.
Tartaglia’s grin returned, though it was softer now, tinged with a flicker of vulnerability, “Maybe I just like the view,” he said, the tease in his voice unable to fully mask the truth beneath the words.
Zhongli raised an eyebrow, a faint smile briefly breaking through his calm exterior.
Tartaglia couldn’t help but watch Zhongli a moment longer, the man’s quiet strength anchoring him. He was powerful, yes, but there was a patience, a depth to him that made Tartaglia feel like there was more beneath the surface—something he couldn’t quite put into words. The thought of leaning into that calm, of connecting with him on a deeper level, stirred an unfamiliar flutter in his chest. It wasn’t fear, exactly, but something close to it. And yet, when Zhongli looked at him, he felt seen in a way that was… different. Real.
Before Zhongli could respond, Tartaglia took a step closer, closing the distance between them to just arm’s length. His grin softened, the usual playfulness in his expression giving way to something more earnest—something less guarded.
“You’re not the only one who appreciates what’s in front of them, you know,” Tartaglia added, his voice lowering, a teasing note still in it but with sincerity threading through the words. He wasn’t sure if he was referring to the festival, or to Zhongli, or perhaps both. There was something about the man beside him—steady, grounded—that had a way of pulling Tartaglia’s usual sharp edges into something quieter, something more vulnerable.
Tartaglia paused for a moment, his gaze softening as he took in the scene before them—everything around him, from the lanterns to the quiet ripple of the water. It wasn’t just the spectacle of it all; it was the stillness, the way the night seemed to settle over them. His usual bravado seemed a little out of place in this moment, and he found himself leaning into it, letting the words come with more honesty than he had intended.
The air between them felt fragile, as though the wrong word or movement might shatter the delicate understanding that was beginning to form. Tartaglia’s heart quickened—a sensation he was unaccustomed to outside of battle. He was no stranger to boldness, but this… this felt different. The tension wasn’t the familiar push of competition or challenge; it was something more delicate, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to press forward or let it linger.
For a moment, it seemed as though neither of them would speak, as if the silence itself might unravel if disturbed. Tartaglia wasn’t sure what was pulling at him, but it was something new, a pull stronger than anything he had felt before.
Zhongli broke the moment with a calm observation, though there was a glimmer of something unspoken in his tone. “Why so quiet suddenly?”
Tartaglia hesitated for a brief second, his thoughts momentarily drifting. The pull he’d felt earlier lingered, and he found himself uncertain, caught between his usual teasing nature and something else. His smirk returned, though it was softer now, less assured. “Maybe I’m trying not to ruin the mood,” he said, his voice lighter, yet with an undercurrent of sincerity. “Or maybe I just think you do enough talking for the both of us.”
A soft laugh escaped Zhongli, warm and unguarded in a way that caught Tartaglia slightly off-guard. “How considerate of you.”
For a brief moment, Tartaglia wondered if he should say more—if there was something waiting to be named between them. But as the fireworks continued to bloom overhead and the lanterns climbed higher into the night, he let the moment settle, savoring the quiet connection that needed no words.
The next firework bloomed above them, spilling its glow across the water in shimmering waves of crimson and gold. Tartaglia’s gaze followed the light, but his thoughts lingered closer—focused on the man beside him. The air between them felt charged, delicate in a way he wasn’t accustomed to. It was as though every breath, every subtle movement carried more weight. After a moment’s hesitation, he took another step closer, their shoulders almost brushing now. The space between them seemed to shrink, and the tension hung heavier in the silence. Yet, Tartaglia couldn’t refrain from commenting:
“Do you ever wonder,” Tartaglia began, his voice quieter now, “what someone like me is doing here? With you?”
Zhongli turned his head slowly, meeting Tartaglia’s gaze with a steady, contemplative look. The amber of his eyes glimmered in the light of the fireworks. “I don’t find it hard to believe,” he replied, his tone measured and calm, “that we each end up where we’re meant to be.”
The simplicity of those words left Tartaglia momentarily unbalanced, as if Zhongli had peeled away a layer of his defenses. He opened his mouth to reply but found that no words came. After a brief pause, Zhongli added, “That said, I believe there is no better place for you to be.”
Such a strong statement—and perhaps a confession—from the Lord of Geo left Tartaglia dumbfounded; his mouth agape, his breath short. He didn’t have a ready reply for that either, so the silence stretched between them, thick with something that hung in the air. The moment felt charged, and before Tartaglia could second-guess himself, he moved toward Zhongli. Closing the distance between them, Tartaglia leaned in and pressed his lips to the Geo Archon’s in a soft, tentative kiss. It was both instinctive and deliberate. The kiss was brief, a brush of lips that carried more meaning than he’d expected. It wasn’t the rush of conquest he was accustomed to, nor the thrill of pushing a boundary. Instead, it was warmth—a quiet, grounding intensity that made everything else fade into insignificance.
Zhongli didn’t pull away. His hand found Tartaglia’s arm, resting lightly, his touch steady and assured. When the kiss ended, he remained close, his gaze locked on Tartaglia’s with an expression that defied easy interpretation.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The air between them seemed to hum, alive with an energy that felt at once fragile and indelible. The fireworks overhead painted Zhongli’s features in shifting hues of gold and red, each burst illuminating the sharp lines of his face and the softness in his eyes. Tartaglia couldn’t look away.
The world around them dimmed—crowd cheers faded into murmurs, the crackle of fireworks became a distant echo, and the lanterns above blurred into a gentle glow. All that remained clear was the warmth of Zhongli’s touch and the quiet intensity in his gaze.
“I didn’t expect boldness like this,” Zhongli said at last, his tone calm but carrying a faint thread of amusement.
Tartaglia let out a soft laugh, warmer than usual. “Guess I don’t always follow the script,” he said, his wink accompanied by a softening grin.To reinforce his statement, he tugged Zhongli closer, arms circling his shoulders in a move that felt more like a quiet claim than a playful tease. “Besides, you should know by now I don’t do anything halfway.”
Zhongli’s lips curved into the barest hint of a smile. He inclined his head slightly, acknowledging a truth only they shared. “No, you do not. And I wouldn’t have you any other way.”
Another firework bloomed above them, casting a burst of brilliant blue and silver across the sky. The light shimmered in the water below, but in that quiet space between them, everything else faded. For once, Tartaglia felt no need to chase anything, no ambition to be filled.
He thought back to Zhongli’s suggestion—to make a wish. At the time, it had seemed like a passing impulse, something easily brushed aside. But now, standing here with Zhongli, the notion felt different. It wasn’t about wishing for something external—it was about what he had always wanted, though he hadn’t fully realized it until now. He wanted to be here, in this moment, with Zhongli. He wanted this connection, this quiet strength between them, to endure. For all the battles he’d fought, all the goals he’d chased, this was the one thing that had always been missing: someone who understood him without needing words, someone who could match his fire with calm.
The crowd continued to cheer, the lanterns rising higher into the night, but Tartaglia stood rooted in the present, content. No longer distracted by the rush of adrenaline or the drive to conquer, he felt at peace. This was the wish, in its own way—the moment, the stillness, the understanding that needed no words. He didn’t need to wish for more. He had everything he needed right here, beside him.