──vielle

You hadn’t known an adeptus could be wed with nothing more than a flower. 

No book had written it and no tale had whispered it. So when you climbed the mountain, plucked a pale qingxin, and offered it to Xiao on the balcony of Wangshu Inn, you had expected nothing but silence. He appeared anyway. Perched on the railing like a hawk, gaze cutting. “Foolish mortal,” he said, voice rough as stone worn thin by rivers. “You don’t know what you bind yourself to.” Yet he took the flower and pressed it to his chest, where it disappeared like breath into cold air. A sharp pulse went through you then—otherworldly, heavy, as though your heartbeat had doubled and no longer belonged entirely to you. You told yourself it was only nerves, only the startling fact of his beauty. (Why must he be so devastating to look at?) So you smiled, voice soft with gratitude, and he slipped into the dark as though the night had been waiting for him.

You didn’t think much of it, not at first.

But in the days that followed, you felt a shadow over your shoulder, and it was as if luck was in your favor. Merchants no longer shortchanged you and strangers kept their distance, and the ordinary chatter of life faded into silence. For the first time, the world seemed to leave you alone, though you could not shake the feeling of golden eyes that never left you. 

…Perhaps you smelled strange.

Still, it was more than luck. The aches that usually woke you each morning faded, and even the most tiring moments of your day held a strange ease to them. A sense of peace lingered under your skin, and you had a feeling that it would be impossible for anything to take it away from you. 

One afternoon, you sit beneath your favorite tree in the mountains and close your eyes, promising yourself only a moment’s rest. However, when you wake, you find yourself in your room at the inn. Startled, you search for some sign of how you had returned. There is none. When you ask around, everyone stares, baffled—even the front desk receptionist. None had seen you come in. “It’s like the wind carried you,” one mutters. You feel an unsettling shiver go down your spine, as if those words held a deeper meaning that couldn’t belong to an offhand comment.  

So, you decide to do what any reasonable person in this situation would do. You walk through Bishui Plains, under the weightless stars, to take your mind off of things. The night air is cool, threaded with the chirp of crickets. You had once heard a rumor that the stars of Teyvat were false, but such talk felt cruel; you couldn’t believe these cold-burning, ethereal lights were anything less than real. You lay down in the grass. The blades bend beneath you, fragrant and damp. The moment is too peaceful, like a soft reverie in the blur of unease you’ve found yourself lost in for the past few days. You close your eyes, content to spend the night out here, when your peace is suddenly interrupted. 

“Always sleeping,” a voice rasps above you, “like a stray cat. Collapsing wherever you please.” Your eyes fly open, head spinning as you try to locate the origin of the voice. He stands against a tree, dark silhouette cut against the silver night. Xiao. He approaches slowly, as though speed itself might shatter something delicate between you. When you make no move to flee, he sits beside you. 

A god at your shoulder. A story made flesh. Born and raised in Liyue, you had grown up hearing tales of the Yakshas. The silent protectors who fought in the shadows so mortals might walk in peace. And here was the last of them, close enough for his sleeve to brush the grass by your hand. Your throat tightens. You look away, cheeks warm, “Don’t call me a cat. I’m only…sleep deprived. An author’s curse.”

A sharp exhale, half scoff, half laugh, “An author. Of what? Those tales you scribble… The Secret Life of the Tyrannical Emperor?” His tone curls with disdain. “Hardly noble work for a carpenter’s daughter.” 

Heat flames across your face. You defensively lurch into a sitting position. “W–When did you even—? In my room? Under my bed? You creep! Were you snooping? I–I knew I shouldn’t have given you those flowers–!” 

“It was on your desk,” he says flatly, eyes narrowed, searching. A pause, then softer, almost to himself. “So you regret the flowers, then. Foolish. Mortals are always this way. Frustratingly elusive, slipping just beyond my understanding.”

And before you can protest, he vanishes. The air rushes in where he had been, knocking you backward into the grass. You splutter, glaring upward, words spilling like starlight sliding off a darkened sky. “Foolish?! I’m not foolish! If anything, you are—leaving someone like me behind! You’re impossible! You walk around as if the world has—has—”

A sudden gust shoves you flat into the ground, no doubt his doing. You yelp, muffled against your own palms. 

Eventually, the wind dies, and you find yourself able to stand, knees wobbling from the force of his presence or whatever that breeze had been. You glare skyward one last time, lips pressed into a thin line, fists clenching, before turning on your heel and stomping back toward Wangshu Inn. Each defiant step is a promise that Xiao will not get away with this. 

Before the sight of the inn reaches you, the sound does. Laughter, cheers, and music so loud it cuts through the night air like a blade. The dining hall is alive tonight, packed with the city’s elite musicians who’ve come to perform. The scent of roasting meat, spiced wine, and sweet pastries drifts to you even before the door swings open, teasing your senses, taunting your focus. 

You head straight for the bar, weaving past clusters of patrons laughing and clinking glasses. Your fingers drum on the polished counter as your thoughts swirl in a hot, tangled, and stubbornly unyielding storm in your mind. 

What did he mean by “Mortals are always this way”? Did he—Has he experienced this before? No! Stop. Absolutely not. Xiao has no right to wander into your life, make stupid remarks, vanish without explanation, and leave your pulse racing like this. No way. He was unreasonable, arrogant, a Yaksha with the gall to mock you. He was nothing like those tales you had heard of when you were younger. 

Anger drives your hands to the nearest glass. You down the first, then the second, letting the burn of alcohol chase away (temporarily) the sting of your humiliation. The bartender watches you with polite caution, but before long, he’s shaking his head, muttering something about “too much to drink, miss,” and guides you gently but firmly to your room. You don’t argue; you’re too caught up in your frustration, too determined to plot your revenge.

No sooner is the door closed behind him than you slip from your room, careful to avoid the maze of inn staff and boisterous patrons. The night is warm, fragrant with the garden outside and the distant mountains looming black and silent. You step onto the balcony, hands gripping the railing as though it could anchor the storm inside you.

“Xiao! You big, ugly, stupid, mean—did I mention ugly..?—unbearably rude, Yaksha!” You roar into the wind. The night swallows your voice. The music and laughter from the hall below serve as a buffer, sparing your dignity from the ears of anyone else.

Your chest heaves. Your hair, loose and wild, clings to dampened skin from the heat of anger. “I hate you! I… hate…” Words falter, floundering somewhere between fury and exasperation.

The edge of the balcony suddenly feels treacherous. You sway, caught in a moment between defiance and dizziness. Then you feel a sudden, firm grip around your waist, chest pressed against your back, arms sliding under your thighs and across your shoulders. Your breath hitches, eyes widening as the world tilts slightly, saved from disaster by sheer, unyielding force.

“Do you always scream like that?” a voice, his voice, murmurs into your ear—deep, controlled, with an edge that could slice through stone. Xiao. Of course it’s him. And of course, he somehow appeared the moment you were most reckless.

You twist to glare, but there’s no room to move; his hold is firm. “Let me go!” you snap, voice sharper than you intend. “I’m not—”

“You are unsteady,” he interrupts, tone clipped, eyes narrowed even in the dark. “You fall too easily.”

You huff indignantly, “I was not falling! I was—well, okay, maybe I was a little…” Your words trail off as your cheeks heat, not entirely from embarrassment, but from the awareness of him so close. Every inch of him radiates controlled energy, a quiet intensity that somehow presses against your nerves like thunder waiting to break.

He shifts slightly, adjusting his hold just enough to make you breathe easier, though it’s no concession. “Careless,” he mutters, voice low, almost reluctant, “always rushing… always reckless. Foolish mortal.”

You snort, twisting your hands to grip the railing instead of punching him. “Careless? Reckless? Me? Oh no, Xiao, you clearly don’t know me at all.” Your tone is defiant, daring him to contradict you, daring him to leave. But inside, your chest flutters. You refuse to acknowledge it.

“I do not need to know you,” he replies, voice flat, eyes flicking toward the horizon as if everything in the night belongs to him alone. Then, just as quickly, his attention snaps back, sharp and piercing. Xiao’s grip tightens ever so slightly. “You are foolish,” he says, almost a whisper. And then, impossibly, he sets you down on the balcony floor, step by careful step, though his eyes linger on you longer than necessary. “Do not do this again. Do not tempt fate.”

You fold your arms, pouting like a child caught in a scolding, cheeks flushed. “Tempt fate? I was yelling at you! You dimwitted Yaksha!”

The corner of his mouth twitches. It’s barely a smirk, but it is there. “I am not your target for insults, mortal.”

“Not my target?!” you huff, unable to suppress the flare of indignation. “I’ll insult you all I want! You showed up out of nowhere, made fun of me, and disappeared like a—like a ghost! You—”

He tilts his head slightly, patience thinning. “Your words are as reckless as your actions,” he says, low and even, yet not unkind. And for a moment, you feel the undeniable pull of his presence. It’s dizzying, it seeps into your very essence and threatens to take control of your emotions, baiting you to do something stupid once more. You clear your throat. 

You grumble, flaring one last time, then lean against the railing, crossing your arms stubbornly. “Fine,” you mutter, “maybe I’ll just… plot revenge instead. Yeah. That’s it. Revenge.”

Xiao doesn’t reply. He only watches the night for a heartbeat longer before he steps back and vanishes, leaving the balcony cold and empty save for the echo of your own voice and the faint, lingering brush of a breeze that smells faintly of the mountain.

And in the quiet aftermath, you realize, begrudgingly, that your grudge might be the only thing keeping your heart from utterly melting under the weight of his impossible presence. You refuse to think about it too much and collapse onto your bed, wishing that sleep will come sooner rather than later. 

Unfortunately, sleep does not come easily that night.

It would be impossible for you to fall asleep after the wine, after the shouting, after the way his arms had closed around you. He was warm, firm, unyielding, as if the idea of you falling had never been an option to begin with. You turn over in your bed, pressing your reddened face into the pillow as if that might smother the memory. It doesn’t. Eventually, once you’ve tired yourself out from flopping about, you give in to the soft lullabies of sleep and allow yourself to drift in and out of a state of consciousness.

The inn is quieter now. The musicians have long since packed their instruments, the laughter has thinned into scattered murmurs drifting up from below. A faint breeze slips through the window, cool against your skin

You freeze. It lingers just for a second too long.

“…Don’t you dare,” you mutter into your pillow.

The breeze stills.

Good.

You huff, satisfied, and force your eyes shut.

The next morning arrives. Golden sunlight spills across the plains like honey poured too generously. You decide—firmly—that you are done thinking about Xiao. No more strange comments. No more appearances out of nowhere. No more… whatever last night was. You grab your satchel, your notebook, and leave the inn before your thoughts can betray you again.

The mountains welcome you like they always do. They are quiet, vast, and indifferent. Mighty, stunning, beautiful beasts that never entirely crumble, despite the long, arduous years. As you walk, the grass bends under your steps, the scent of wildflowers drifts in the air. It’s peaceful, grounding. It is exactly what you need. 

You settle beneath a tree, the same one as before, and open your notebook. Ink scratches softly against paper as you write, words coming easier than they have in days. Characters move, argue, confess things far more coherent than anything in your own life.

You almost forget him. Until a shadow flickers across the page. You pause and frown, glaring at your notebook. 

“…If you’re going to hover, at least have the decency to say something,” you mutter, not looking up.

Silence.

Then, he says, “You are alone.”

Your pen stops.

Xiao stands a few steps away, arms folded, gaze scanning the treeline instead of you.

You retort, “Yes. That tends to happen when one goes out alone.”

He ignores the tone entirely. “This area is not safe.”

You snort, “Oh? And since when do you care where I go?”

A pause that lasts a moment too long. 

“I do not,” he says finally, though his voice lacks its usual sharpness. “It is simply… inefficient to allow you to come to harm.”

You stare at him. “…Inefficient.”

“Yes.”

You let out a breath through your nose. “Right. Of course. Wouldn’t want to inconvenience the great Yaksha.”

He doesn’t rise to your snark. He just watches the horizon like it’s more interesting than you.

You hate that a little. Defensive and a bit miffed, your emotions take over you once more. 

“Go,” you hiss, waving him off. “I’ll be perfectly fine. I’ve survived this long without you hovering over my shoulder.”

Another pause. You don’t look at him, but you feel the way the air shifts, the weight of his attention dispersing.

“…Very well.”

The wind stirs, and then he’s gone.

You make it perhaps an hour before things go wrong. At first, it’s a subtle rustle in the brush. A break in the quiet that doesn’t belong. Then a faint, wretched smell hits you, like garbage mixed with vinegar. 

You stand slowly.  “…Okay,” you murmur, “that’s new.” You slowly back away, back onto the trail that takes you to Wangshu Inn, all while keeping your eyes on the brush. 

The first hilichurl emerges from the treeline, weapon raised, then another. And another.

Your grip tightens around the small knife at your side. “Oh. Oh, that’s—no, that’s a lot.”

They start to circle around you. You take a step back.

“Alright,” you say, voice thin but determined. “We can talk about this. I have—uh—very little money, but I do have snacks?”

They roar. You bolt.

Branches claw at your sleeves as you run, heart slamming against your ribs. The ground dips unexpectedly beneath your feet, uneven, treacherous. You stumble, catch yourself, keep going.

Behind you, the pounding of footsteps grows louder.

“Okay—okay—this is fine—this is fine—”

It is not fine.

A rock catches your foot. You go down hard, the breath punched from your lungs. Your vision swims.

The world narrows to shouting, the rush of blood in your ears and then silence falls so suddenly it feels wrong. You push yourself up on trembling arms. The hilichurls lie scattered, unmoving.

And at the center of it is Xiao with his spear in hand and his expression unreadable. He’s breathing steadily, as if this had cost him nothing at all. You can’t help but think bitterly, “Of course it hadn’t.” 

You exhale shakily, relief flooding you, hot and overwhelming. Just as quickly, an irrational wave of anger follows towards Xiao. So what if you almost died?? This embarrassment is making you wish you had. Xiao just saw you fumble around and eat shit when you told him you’d be fine on your own, and now your prideful heart cannot act normal. It’s embarrassing, your immaturity.  

“Seriously?!” you snap, scrambling to your feet. “Do you just follow me around waiting for me to trip over something?!”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, his gaze flicks past you, sharp. “More are coming.”

You blanch. “Oh.”

A moment passes and you hear the loud roars. 

“…Oh.”

He moves before you can process it—grabbing your wrist, pulling you forward. The world blurs around you, wind tearing at your clothes as he moves faster than anything human should. You squeeze your eyes shut, clinging onto him. 

Then, it’s quiet, dark, and cool. You hear a soft trickle of water. You slowly open your eyes and look at Xiao, who stands at the edge of the cave you are in, scanning for hilichurls. You’re safe…for now. 

After relief, the silence presses in from all sides, suffocating you. Your chest heaves, adrenaline still burning through you. You pace once, twice, then turn on him.

“Why?” you demand.

He tilts his head slightly, looking back at you. He chooses—with a final glance outside—to walk closer to you. 

“Why do you keep doing that?” you press, frustration spilling over. “Showing up out of nowhere, saving me like I’m some helpless—some—thing you’re obligated to protect?! I didn’t ask for it!”

His expression doesn’t change. If anything, he looks… confused. “You would prefer I did not?”

“That’s not what I—!” You cut yourself off, dragging a hand through your hair. “I just—I don’t understand you!” 

A pause.

“I am fulfilling my duty,” he says.

You sneer, “Your duty? To what? Babysitting reckless mortals?”

His brows knit faintly. “…To you.”

The words are like a bucket of cold water splashed onto your head. All you can do is blink and dumbly blurt, “To me?”

“Yes.”

The silence stretches until you can’t take it anymore. 

“…Why?”

He hesitates. Xiao actually hesitates. You’ve never seen that before.

“…Is that not obvious?” he asks slowly.

“No.”

Another pause.

Then, he speaks quieter than before, a hint of uncertainty in his usually firm voice. “It is the duty of a husband.”

Your brain stops functioning for a second. You let out an unintelligible noise, regain yourself, a light dusting of pink on your cheeks, and then ask, “…What?”

He stills. Color creeps, faint but unmistakable, along his neck.

“…To protect. To remain close. To ensure your safety,” he continues, voice stiff now, like he’s reciting something he doesn’t fully understand himself. “To care for… one’s other half.”

You stare at him.

“Husband,” you repeat blankly.

“Yes.”

“…Other half.”

“Yes.”

You open your mouth, close it, open it again. You repeat this a few times like a fish. 

“…Xiao.”

“Yes.”

“What are you talking about?”

He looks away, face red now. He clears his throat and mutters something under his breath. Then, slowly, he speaks, “The offering on the inn’s roof. The Qingxin flower.” 

Your stomach drops. “The… flower?”

“The qingxin,” he nods. “An offering of that nature—given willingly—carries meaning.”

“Wait,” you whisper, “you mean—”

“It is not something given lightly,” he says, gaze fixed somewhere just past your shoulder now. “Nor is it something I would refuse.”

Your heart stutters. “You thought I was—marrying you?” you manage to say.

“I did not think,” he replies, quieter now, “I accepted because…I have never been offered such a thing before.” His confession is soft like the gentle breeze that seems to follow him. His gaze flicks to yours for a moment, then away. 

“And I—” He pauses, then speaks again, “I found that I did not… dislike it.”

Silence floods the cave. You stare at him, the pieces slotting together in your mind with terrifying clarity. The shadow over your shoulder. The sudden safety. The way he always appeared—

“Oh my Archons,” you breathe.

You married him. By accident. To a Yaksha. You clap a hand over your face.

“Oh my Archons—”

“I have fulfilled my duties poorly,” Xiao says, voice low, almost tense. “If you regret—”

“I don’t regret it!” you blurt, dropping your hand. “I just—would’ve liked to know?!”

He blinks. “…Ah.” As if the thought of informing you never crossed his mind. 

You pace again, then stop, looking at him, really looking, squinting, as if trying to read his soul. He won’t quite meet your eyes now. As you scan his entire body, you notice the faint red still lingering on his skin, the tension in his shoulders. They’re broad. His arms are well-sculpted. He’s not much taller than you, but you like that. Makes it easier to kiss—

You flush at the thought, mentally swatting it away like a pesky fly. You manage to regain your voice. “…You really thought this whole time…” you murmur.

“Yes.” 

You’re getting slightly annoyed at his one-word answers. You stand with your hands on your hips, glaring at him.  “…And you didn’t say anything?”

“It did not seem necessary.”

You laugh. You can’t help it. It bubbles out of you, incredulous, overwhelmed.

“Of course it didn’t,” you mutter, “of course you wouldn’t think that’s important.”

And before you can stop them, the words burst from your lips like the fireworks at the inn last night, intense, brief, and uncontrollable.  “…You like me?”

He stiffens. “…You are… acceptable.” He practically whispers the admission, redder now. Not so much like a flower, but more like a tomato. 

You grin. “That’s high praise coming from you.”

“…You are also reckless,” he adds abruptly.

“There it is. That’s the Xiao I know. You had me scared for a moment. I thought you had been drugged or something, being all cheesy and red like that.” You giggle. 

He glares at you, but he can’t hide the small, fond smile on his face. 

By the time you leave the cave, the monsters are gone and the world feels different. Not because anything has changed. The people still chat in the streets, the birds still chirp, the wind still flows softly. But because now you know, and knowledge feels like the sweetest fruit. 

Back at Wangshu Inn, the night settles quietly around you both. You sit on the edge of your bed. He stands near the window, as if unsure where he belongs. You pat the space beside you.

“Come here.”

“I can remain—”

“Xiao,” you say sternly. 

Then, slowly, he moves like a grumpy cat. He sits besides you cautiously like you might disappear if he does it wrong. You lean against him anyway. He goes rigid, eyes wide and face reddening. Then, after a moment, he relaxes. Just slightly.

“…This is unnecessary,” he murmurs.

“Mhm.”

“…I am already here.”

“Mhm.”

He pauses and squints before looking away to hide his expression. 

“…You are warm.”

You smile, eyes drifting shut.

“Told you.”

The breeze outside stirs, soft and steady. It doesn’t feel like something watching over you overprotectively. It feels like something that thinks you’re worth staying for.