Chapter Text
It’s on a humid, typical Liyuen morning that Childe decides on the harmless task of taking a walk around the market close to the docks. He has already done his normal training regimen in the early hours, and the sun is still blood red and pink, reflective in the light of the ocean waves. He’s still fascinated by how quickly the sky changes here, the consistent creep of night back into light. It startled him when he first left Morepesok for the ice gates of Zapolyarny further south, but it’s even more pronounced in the Harbor. The constant rotation and movement in the sky only seems to radiate back on the people below.
It’s stupid that something like that still amazes him, that after witnessing stone-spear prisons and the godless chaos of the Abyss something like a sunrise has Childe wide-eyed with wonder. Signora would mock him endlessly. Scaramouche would probably laugh himself to death, and well, if there is any actual chance of that happening, maybe Childe should go write a letter.
Though an unprompted missive to the Balladeer would most likely only bring Childe ire and a fight. And, oh, isn’t that even more tempting? It feels like ages since he had any actual practice. He’s been in Liyue Harbor for three months, and the closest Childe has gotten to a battle are a few practice drills with some of his more senior recruits and some gods-awful baiting at Andrei that made Ekaterina cringe.
Fuck. He’s getting restless. He’s not the type of Harbinger for this, and sacrilege aside, he sometimes questions why Her Majesty would assign him to play at banker-diplomat. He’s nothing but a fighter, truly. A monster or commander—Tartaglia thrives on blood and sweat and the sharp edge of a Hydro knife.
But Childe can smile and sweet talk. He can take his daily walk around the Harbor, admire the sunrise and the smells of freshly steamed bao and Mora Meat. He can attempt to ascertain the quality of Cor Lapis and Silk Flowers and not pretend that every centimeter of his skin is prickling and anxious to tear into someone else's.
The Harbor reflects the undulation in his gut, bursting with frenetic energy. The waves are rocky. The fishermen pull and strain with a too-heavy catch. Merchants from around Teyvat gather to restock their stalls, say their good mornings, and quip best wishes to competitors. Childe finds himself lingering at the toy stalls newly filled with colorful kites and masks, all in preparation for the Rite of Descension though the day itself is more than a week away.
Eleven days.
He wonders if today should mean something. Eleven days before the Eleventh takes his prize. He stops to eye one of the carefully crafted paper kites of the Exuvia, a long brown and gold dragon that flaps in the wind. It’s beautiful, a masterpiece masquerading as a child’s toy, and he briefly thinks about how much Teucer would love it before his mind wanders to the Exuvia in real life. It would be a beast of a thing—terrifying, magnificent. Rex Lapis would descend from his heavenly, Adrestral abode and Childe would be there, waiting. Oh, how he’s waited. He can see it clearly, mask front facing, Vision blue and brimming at his side as he cuts past the scales, Hydro shaska thick and steaming at the contact.
But no, that wouldn’t be the case with Rex Lapis. All the dragons in Childe’s bedtime stories were made of ice or fire, but this was the God of Geo. He needs to be careful not to dull his blades on stone.
Eleven days.
He’s used to operating under pressure. He’s a member of the Fatui, a Lord Harbinger, the youngest Harbinger that survived the Abyss when he was a child with no more than a hunting knife on his belt. Signora had stolen the Anemo Archon’s gnosis with little more than a kick to the gut, and Tartaglia is faster than her, better. That was why the Tsaritsa trusted him to play this game—only he could face the most powerful of the Seven and come out both alive and successful.
“He wouldn’t want the Exuvia.” The small, white-haired woman smiles openly at Childe. It’s a marked change from his first tour of the Harbor, his initial presence only sparking long glances, whispers of Snezhnaya, and comments on his hair color.
Granny Shan welcomes him openly now, excited to show off her creations, and even takes Childe by the lower arm to the back of her stall. There, she moves away the extraordinary amount of golden-dragon kites and pulls a small wooden box from a lower crate. “It’s a puzzle. The pieces interlock together and form a unique design. I am sure a learned man like Zhongli would love such a gift.”
Oh.
Oh.
He feels heated at the assumption. And, well, it’s not an unfair assumption. Granny Shan doesn’t know his interest in her stall on most days is because of a brother much too fascinated with toys and a supposed job as a toy salesman. She also most definitely doesn’t know how he intends to carve out the godhood of her paper kite’s originator.
Childe hasn’t bought Zhongli-xiansheng anything like a toy. The man spouts practical poetry on mountainscapes and has the taste-level of the most elite dvorіane. The thought of buying him something as simple as a toy seems like an opening for mockery.
Though he admits that the box seems to be exceptionally handmade, the wood cuihua, a carved border of Star Conches that grasp at something in Childe’s chest. Granny Shan slides the lid open to reveal several pieces of darker wood. Each piece has different grooves and patterns that match another in the box. It’s different but beautiful in its shallow simplicity. Childe thumbs one piece between gloved fingers. “How much?”
“For you? 1,200 mora.”
Or three Mora Meats. Granny Shan could have fleeced him for more. “Do you gift wrap?”
He knows it’s bad.
He knows, really, that he shouldn’t be entangled with anyone but his colleagues at the Northland Bank. His faux role as a Snezhnaya diplomat and senior banker, however, put him at an arm’s length with his colleagues. That and the fact that they all know his full history as the Eleventh, how there were only certain ways someone as young as him could be brought into Her Majesty’s Vanguard so early.
Zhongli doesn’t know everything about him, and it’s…sort of nice not having that expectation from someone. A friend who, yes, maybe takes him for all he’s worth in terms of mora, but doesn’t really know the part of him that gives him such access to it. There’s no preconception. No fear. Nothing but a companion to try the new dishes at Wanmin, to admire the Pearl Galley peeking over the Harbor horizon line, to learn the difference in clarity of Noctilucous Jade.
And, sure, Childe doesn’t really care about the clarity of Noctilucous Jade, but he strangely cares that Zhongli does. That underneath the expensive silks of brown and gold and Cor Lapis gems, is the most bizarre and interesting Geo allogene Childe has ever mistakenly met.
He reflexively finds his way to the doors of Wangsheng. The traditional door is decorated with a flyer and tear-off coupons that are unsurprisingly untouched. Childe shrugs at the piece of paper and pushes his way inside the funeral parlor.
It’s not often he actually goes into Wangsheng and even less so that he does this early in the day. He can picture Zhongli as an early riser, someone who enjoys both the too-early morning quiet and also the sudden break of calm as the city starts to wake. The man is also incredibly fastidious, and Childe hopes to catch him before he’s too buried with work.
Wangsheng is as still and silent as its clients. There are only a few lanterns lit in the front room, a rounded entryway with lines of incense on the walls, all unlit and perhaps packaged to be sold? Liyuen customs are still foreign to him, funeral rites especially. Childe doesn’t attempt to decipher the banners and lights and books. He’s quiet as he peers around the front desk and examines the side doors. Childe stills when he hears a creak from the far right door and a small woman in a black hat quickly approaches him.
“I knew it was only time before you’d seek me out.” Hu Tao drops the heavy book in her hands at the front desk and proceeds to flip it open. “I can send someone over to prepare the body this afternoon, but don’t the Fatui need something special? I can offer a discount on blankets. Buy three get two free. How about that?”
It’s so rapid and cavalier Childe thinks he misheard. “Um, what?”
“I read that in a book somewhere. Looked it up as soon as you moved into town. It’s only one body, right? Anymore and you may have to wait a bit.”
“I’m actually looking for Zhongli-xiansheng.”
“Eh? You sure about that? I got to say Zhongli’s only really worth the price for super traditional stuff. I can offer you one of our newer consultants. He’s even been to Snezhnaya and comes at a much lower rate!”
“No, I don’t—" Childe twitches but swallows down anything incredibly scathing. “I’m not here as a client, Director Hu Tao.”
“Oh.” Her shoulders immediately deflate, and Hu Tao quickly shuts the book with a loud bam. “Zhongli doesn’t show up to work until around 10am. I could take a message for you, but by the look on your face it seems like something I’d feel uncomfortable relaying back to an employee. You can come back later.”
Childe blinks away the comment. “Um, yeah. I’ll just see him at lunch. No worries.”
“Actually, since you’re here and all, I could use a super quick favor.”
Oh no.
“Just really, really, quick, Childe, sir. Barely a minute of your time.”
Before Childe could outwardly refuse or run away, Hu Tao dips below the front desk, rustling through what sounds like layers and layers of paperwork. A few seconds later she pops back up and lays a letter flat on the desk in front of Childe. It looks ordinary, almost nondescript except for the fact that the envelope has nothing at all on it.
“Is it just me or is this bizarre?” Hu Tao leans her elbows on the desk. “No to address. No return address. And it just magically shows up at the door?” Her nose twitches and she pushes the letter closer to Childe. “Seems like, I don’t know, suspicious Fatui business to me. And because we’re friends and all—” They’re not. “—I thought I’d let you figure out what to do with it.”
Childe picks up the envelope. The seal flaps open. “You read it.”
“I didn’t!” Hu Tao gestures casually. “I just opened it. I literally can’t read it if you must know. Also why I decided you may be the best person for this.”
“Well…thank you.” He decides not to give Hu Tao the satisfaction of reading the letter in front of her. “There’s no need to tell Zhongli-xiansheng I stopped by.”
She shoots him a wide grin. “You’ll most likely see him before I do. Thanks for swinging by Mr. Childe. And I hope you appreciate the favor. Do keep us in mind when you need our services in the future!”
It’s hard, even for a Harbinger, to decipher if that was a threat.
The letter sits heavy in his uniform’s pocket, weighing almost as much as the Delusion in his inner lining.
His blue eyes quickly skimmed the first sentence in the funeral parlor, and Childe finds his pace quickening to get back to the bank. It’s depressing that he’s so used to Signora’s harsh, large penmanship. He’s received his fair share of obnoxious ego-tripping from the Eighth, most recently from her mission in Mondstadt. Childe is almost certain that this is just another letter mocking how long he’s taken in Liyue. But unlike the heavy handed task with the Anemo Archon, his mission wasn’t just to touch ground in a couple days and call it. His mission required more delicacy, finesse—something La Signora lacked in both action and prose.
Nadia comments on his grin when he enters Northland, and yes, Childe is a little happy with Zhongli’s gift and the anticipation of calling out Signora on her sloppy delivery. “I’ll be in my office for a bit, Nadia.” He tilts his head to Ekaterina, and the receptionist acknowledges the comment with a slight wave of her hand. Ekaterina is, if anything, efficient.
The bank itself is not quite open. Low-level employees flutter around dusting counters and elegant lighting fixtures. Ekaterina is diligent at her desk, and Andrei shuffles in the back most likely preparing for some big time Liyuen client.
Childe, to be frank, does little in the actual bank operations. He involves none of the employees except Ekaterina with anything remotely related to Harbinger business, and likewise, he touches nothing in the way of loans and savings accounts and whatever contracts Andrei dealt with on a day-to-day basis. The separation was a necessary measure from the Qixing and something Childe was happy to oblige on with his title as a Harbinger so well known in the Harbor. His office being in the bank was more than enough motivation for the bank’s debtors to pay back their principal on time. With high interest.
He has enough on his mind anyway—just the little task of dethroning the oldest, most powerful god in Teyvat. An impossible task, maybe. A task, at least, that required contingency after contingency and several currently unsent letters back to Morepesok explaining how to access his accounts with the Fatui if he—
No. Childe couldn’t let his mind slip there. Failing is not a probability.
His personal office is in the very back of Northland Bank, far enough that he can’t hear the bustle of the lobby of clients and vice versa. It’s plush. Ajax would be dumbfounded by the careless display of wealth, the gold leaf in the bookshelves, the ornately carved wooden desk encrusted with blue and white sapphires the color of ice. There are leather cases that store a series of metal weapons—not that he needs them with the Vision on his belt but the accessibility of something physical puts his mind at ease.
That and the three layers of locks on the door, all of which he snaps shut before removing the letter in his pocket.
Written in Snezhnayan but with no address? All to wind up at Wangsheng? It’s bizarre. Childe doesn’t remove his gloves as he slips out the unsealed letter, eyes unsurprised to see the text completely written in Signora’s offending script.
--
I am sending this note post haste to ensure its arrival before the Rite of Descension. No, I do not need to know the specifics of your expulsion of the Exuvia. It is not necessary for me to know as long as it’s convincingly dispelled. It’s a curious maneuver, but I am not in a place to argue and have full faith that the Qixing, particularly Ningguang, will be up to your challenge.
On the subject of full faith, I would be remiss not to bring up the lack of it for my colleague. Tartaglia is accomplished, yes, but narcissistic enough to think he would be a threat against you. I am told the Sigils of Permission are coming along nicely, but there is no guarantee the Eleventh will actually deem them necessary to use. He may threaten the “safety” of Liyue on his own, and I worry he is not ample enough of a force for you to feel comfortable rescinding your gnosis. I suppose we can discuss this further should the events lead to such. If so, I can be on standby with a Sigil and remove Tartaglia myself. It would be an absolute pleasure.
No need to write back. I will be in Liyue shortly after the Rite of Descension. Best of luck dying.
-Signora, the Eighth Harbinger of Her Majesty, the Tsaritsa’s Vanguard.
--
Childe drops the letter almost halfway through. This…isn’t intended for him or any member of the Fatui. And either Signora is absolutely losing her mind or she’s been communicating with Rex Lapis. She’s been conspiring with Rex Lapis and…and…
Childe yells and grabs the red mask on the side of his face, firmly centering it in the middle of his head.
He feels like killing something. He feels the flume of his Vision flare on his hip because he is livid. Signora is most likely back in Zapolyarny. He wonders how quickly he can get there and back after shoving his sword in her chest.
And then it occurs to him how fucking insane this letter actually is. That Rex Lapis, Morax, God of Contracts, who only graces the mortal realm one day a year, is actually corresponding with one of the Fatui?
“Shit.” Childe paces around his office. A small water dagger flickers in and out of his hand, and he throws it suddenly against a wall, dispersing the water into mist before there is any actual contact. “Shit.”
He’s been manipulated this entire time. Does the Tsaritsa know? Was the plan just to let Tartaglia lose? To let him go and dance around because all he’s ever good for is chaos and that’s exactly what Rex Lapis wants?
Fuck. This made no sense. Rex Lapis is not supposed to be in the mortal realms of Liyue, and he’s definitely not supposed to willingly surrender his gnosis. Childe is supposed to steal it. He’s supposed to risk everything and anything to dig his fingers and rip the godhood right out of the Archon’s chest.
He’s hit with a sudden wave of exhaustion, and Childe slumps in the leather chair behind his desk. He rips the mask from his head again and tosses it to the side, fingers gripping and twisting through his red hair because, seriously, what the fuck.
Childe needs to get out. His exhaustion, lack of motion, lets his mind start to drift. There is no possible way Signora could contact Rex Lapis without the help of the Tsaritsa. That’s obvious, a no brainer. Which means he was intentionally set up to fail.
His mind ticks back to an icy palace and when he was first given his new name and the badge of a Lord Harbinger.
“You know Tartaglia is always the joke, right? Barely important. Barely has a voice. Don’t you think that’s fitting?”
Childe grimaces at the memory. He thinks the punch to Scaramouche’s jaw was a fitting response, however.
He needs to get out of here. He needs a Plan H, a plan to find Rex Lapis and get him to give him the gnosis before Signora ever steps foot in Liyue. But it couldn’t be that easy. If Rex Lapis made his appearance even slightly known in the Harbor, the entirety of Liyue would be insatiable and begging for their fortunes and mora and whatever else the God of Geo bestowed upon his beloved citizens. But even so, Childe needs to try. He needs to go back to Wangsheng and get the truth out of the letter from Hu Tao. He needs to go and find the Qixing and that Adeptus-looking secretary and get her to talk. There is just no way, no possible way, that a six thousand year old dragon can remain so hidden, so unseen, and Childe will eventually—
He nearly stumbles on the decadent rug of his office, boots catching on a small block on the ground. Childe is about to kick the offending object clear across the room when he sees it’s the small puzzle box he got for Zhongli.
His heart sinks when he realizes he’ll have to cancel his lunch with Zhongli today and perhaps for the foreseeable future. It’s one of the only calm spots for him since…since he doesn’t know when, and it’s a shame to remove that respite because of this utter shitshow. Though knowing Zhongli and his seemingly never ending knowledge of Liyue and its history, the funeral consultant could help him. He only really seemed to have a passing interest in the God of Geo, despite having a literal Geo Vision himself, but Zhongli has an almost encyclopedic knowledge of all of Liyue, its customs, and an unnerving amount of knowledge about the Archons that really doesn’t—
Childe leans his head against the door at the realization, hitting him like a shock of Electro. “You have got to be kidding me.”
He lets loose the easy smile over a plate of Squirrel-fried Fish and Jueyun Chili Chicken. The onion slips from his chopsticks as he recounts some nonsense story about an unnamed client asking for a rather sizeable loan for an Inazuman lacquerware stall.
“Logistics aside, we at the Northland Bank don’t see a large market for barely obtainable pots.”
Zhongli sips his tea across from him, almost delicate. His eyes drop briefly to the tea itself before settling on Childe, and holy shit he really is such an idiot. Zhongli’s entire being hums with Geo energy, as if—go figure—he were an elemental being, eyes the soft shimmer of Cor Lapis, hair the same ombre of the Tsaritsa’s ice-blue, only replaced with the appropriate hue of gold.
Childe is a fucking idiot.
“I am surprised something as rare as true Inazumen lacquerware would be undesirable in Liyue. The artisans take deep care in the craft, and I myself am particularly fond of kintsugi. The art is actually associated closely with traditional tea ceremonies as the artisans initially used this method of repair for teapots and other vessels.” Zhongli touches the cheap, stone pot of Wanmin. “Though I suppose an object of that delicacy and craft would not result in the number of sales the Northland Bank aspires to.”
“Hit it, xiansheng. I’m sure they make nice tea pots but the margins weren’t there. It’s also near impossible to get any trading ships here and back from Ritou. That cuts whatever premium by a lot.”
“Hm.” It’s almost like a purr across the table, and Childe would think that Zhongli is content if he hadn’t known the man for months. “It’s not often that you talk about your job.”
That’s true. Mostly because Childe’s job involves all the murky and dark things he would want to hide from someone like Zhongli-xiansheng. And to be fair, he’s speaking more on Andrei’s job than his own. A few looks at a folder and overheard conversations primed him for the scripted small talk this afternoon. “It’s an excuse to hear more about yours, xiansheng. I know I call you that but it’s not really your full time gig.”
Zhongli raises an eyebrow and sets his tea cup down and firmly away from his plate. “It would be lamentable if it were. You still don’t hold chopsticks correctly.”
“Still?” Childe holds up the wooden chopsticks, stained with soy sauce, and is met with the quiet chuckle from the man–dragon–Adeptus–across from him. “Are you a better funeral consultant?”
Zhongli bows his head. “Director Hu Tao is many things though she is rather direct when it comes to my performance. I believe she would tell me if I weren’t.”
“That’s usually the best way to manage people.” At least that is always Childe’s approach, though he’d say the parallels with him and Hu Tao stop there. “You never really said how you got into it?”
He taps his long fingers on the table. Childe watches them, slightly distracted by the sterling silver ring on his thumb. “Into…”
“Funeral, uh, consulting? Is that really what it is?”
“Liyue has many complicated traditions when it comes to funeral rites that require a certain knowledge and care. So yes.” Zhongli smiles. “Uh-consulting is an accurate term for it.”
Archons above Childe is supposed to be driving the conversation more than this. He always feels too warm in Liyue. The air here is thicker than any place in Snezhnaya, and with the firm, direct stare of a maybe-Archon across from him, Childe feels like he’s choking. He doesn’t exactly mind it.
Zhongli has impeccable etiquette and doesn’t allow Childe to be completely off kilter. “But to answer your question, I pursued the role directly. I have little formal experience in consulting but Director Hu Tao appreciated the level of historical knowledge I have and deemed it complementary to her own…business talents.”
“You’re too nice, xiansheng.” Childe nods his thanks as a waiter sets down a plate of green dumplings. He pokes at it curiously and is met with Zhongli’s low, soft laughter.
“Please don’t spill the filling of the Jade Parcels.” And maybe Childe is not so much of a fucking idiot because it seems like absolute nonsense for Morax, Rex Lapis, God of Contracts and once God of War, to feed him dumplings. But Zhongli grasps the parcel easily, deftly between his chopsticks, and holds them up to Childe’s mouth. “Here.”
And maybe, if Childe is totally honest, this isn’t the first or second or even third time this has occurred. The first time, Childe assumed the man was just pitying him, much like some lost, foreign puppy. The second time, Childe was just grateful because he really, really wanted to try the fried crab, and the third time…well the third time, Zhongli just seemed to want to do it.
Which has its own level of implications that make absolutely no sense if he’s the Geo Archon. No sense. None. Childe cannot think about that and distracts himself with the taste of chili and ham and a paper thin wrapper.
“It’s good,” he says after a swallow. “Can I ask what you did before?”
Zhongli chews his own dumpling. His eyes blink, red eyeliner impeccable and distracting Childe all over again. “Before my time at Wangsheng?”
“Yes.”
He leans back, forefinger gliding across his cheekbone, jewel eyes darting up and down Childe’s neck and face. It’s a wonder, really, how Childe is the one asking the questions, how Childe has interrogated spies, government officials, and high power criminals, and still feels like he is being drawn and quartered by Zhongli from a literal glance.
“A soldier much like you.”
And the subtext is there, somehow, hard and heavy on Zhongli’s lips. A soldier like him. A past that he doesn’t want to explain like him, and though Childe’s training from the Fatui is not something he can hide, Zhongli knows there’s more, doesn’t he? Can he sense the Delusion hidden in his coat, the taint and easy power the Abyss holds in his chest and bones?
There’s a hand gripping his own, setting down his chopsticks to the plate. Zhongli’s thumb stops at the center of Childe’s gloved palm, and it’s, again, something he would have read into, something he would have pursued if this man were…were a man.
Then—another epiphany—one that has Childe swallowing and the surrounding air and temperature grow even thicker and hotter. What if he pulls more on this thread? What if…what if instead of seizing Rex Lapis’ gnosis from his chest, he receives it on a silver, heart-shaped platter? It wouldn’t be the first time he’s used this tactic, and Childe has to admit Zhongli as a target would certainly make it easier than most.
It’s a split decision, but Childe has mostly functioned off gut and intuition and he snatches it. “I have a present for you. I was out on the docks this morning and thought of you.” He places the puzzle box on the table and watches as Zhongli’s eyes widen and glow.
The tips of his hair seem to almost exude an energy, and he grasps the puzzle box, pulls it into his chest and murmurs a quiet, “Thank you.” His whole face seems to soften, brighten, over something so stupidly cheap and simple. "Thank you so much, Childe."
And Childe, who has had more than one incredibly insane revelation today, has one more.
Rex Lapis is in love with him.