#jadeshielded

Few sights in Teyvat could rival this view, where the sun threatens to dip beyond rising waves and the whole of the city is bathed in the soft orange aftermath. The festival’s decorations only seem more stunning, each performance dotting the harbor’s edge better than the last.

Very little could compare to the mastery of the artists that gather in Liyue, he thinks, the pride welling in his chest warm and persistent.

That didn’t mean things couldn’t go wrong. Missing two performers for the dragon dance is no small obstacle, the dragon itself required skilled hands and strength for maneuvering the handcrafted decoration and lights that adorned it. He scans the crowd now, having agreed to help find someone who could pass for the part.

The person he finds…gives him pause, eyes glimmering once before his steps decide his course. “Lady Furina,” He inclines his head to the tempo of his greeting, leaving a respectable distance between them. “Truly a pleasure that you have decided to attend another Lantern Rite. Your favor may explain the number of Fontainian citizens enjoying the celebration.” The assumption is fondly said, though he moves quickly. While he hadn’t explicitly promised to help find two people with the skill to stand in…

He had been looking forward to seeing the performance…its absence would certainly dampen the rest of the festivities.

“Apologies if I speak too directly. Our dragon dance appears to need two more to stand in the spotlight.” Already, he can see the troupe marching on with their preparations. He faces her fully, expectant. “As your reputation proceeds you…do you have anyone in your company who can rise to the occasion?”

WHEN IN LIYUE, DO AS THE LIYUEANS DO. or so the adage is said to go. fontainean through and through in more ways than one, she supposes this has always been a little difficult for her to take in stride, all things considered. she might be renowned for her dab hand at any part upon the stage, but conforming to a different set of social rules altogether was another thing——on the smallest level, for instance, she still has yet to understand how to even hold a pair of chopsticks, or cease to marvel at how the people here seemed to do everything with them so effortlessly, from cutting food⠀(⠀this didn't require a knife??⠀)⠀to stirring pots.

but she is eager to experience it all. and that begins and ends with the thrilling series of performances upon the lantern-lit stage afloat on the harbor's bay by sunset. it's said to be a inimitable sight: the waters of the endless bay aglow with fire of the sun, said to emulate the golden rays of stone hewn by the ancient rex lapis himself ; and before them, a parade of dance, theatre, acrobatics, and martial demonstrations, with the apex of them all——the dragon dance——taking place right as the sun lowered to the perfect angle over the water's surface, casting all of liyue in long shadows.

how romantic! she could absolutely not afford to miss it.

but furina is an eager tourist second ; before that, perhaps before she has ever in her long life been anything else, she is a master of stagecraft first. and she has walked enough of them, tread the wings behind the performance endlessly by rote, to sense when there is something not quite right rippling beneath as the minutes draw closer to the curtain rise. it's impossible to say where it comes from, only that there must be some difficulty that'd arisen, some snag in the proceedings. perhaps it's in the hurried stride she catches from one of the half-dressed performers far below, moving over to his troupe ; perhaps something else.

either way, she is distracted enough that when a low voice addresses her name close beside, she nearly starts——managing her catch herself before it's noticeable by force of habit.

"oh, monsieur zhongli." her face breaks into a cordial smile. what a coincidence to run into him again, that lantern rite should be their milieu once more, though many miles from qiaoying this time. as she remembers, his speech is measured and refined, full with an erudition that makes her feel at once small and in awe. his praise, delivered with such thought, is so much more difficult to accept as the well-meant flattery she is used to ; it makes her cheeks color almost bashfully even as she smiles and curtsies with the pleasure to hear it. "you really speak of me too highly. fontaine. . . can't always follow the same stars ; popularity is always coming and going." she swallows, the only indication of some falter in her eloquence. but before she can finish the pleasantries with an acknowledgement, he pivots to some greater issue——and here she'd thought he really had just come to say hello.

". . . so that wasn't just my imagination, then," she muses, attention turning back to the troupe on the decks far below——gone now ; dispersed, perhaps, to a last-minute emergency. she can imagine——no, she knows keenly the panic they must be feeling.

They go hand in hand.

In the years that have passed, Zhongli has performed this ritual alone, though the gentleman seated at the edges of the cliff is just that – a man with an understanding of another’s personal significance, or simply someone who drifted to the sea of clouds to witness the sunset and reflect on his own memories.

Like this, they are two ghosts adrift in the gentle fog, neither comfort or hinderance.

Zhongli’s lantern is alight, the elegant script shining gold as the former archon releases it toward the sky while the incense infects the fog and carries it forward. To fallen friends, he thinks, settling with his head tipped to the sun.

Time slips on undeterred, though as long as he lives, he will carry on their memory with complete clarity, with fondness and love and longing.

The earth beneath him does not shift, so his companion in this must be content, and Zhongli makes himself so as well, murmuring affectionate memories to those who can no longer laugh along to them in this world.

Whether one arrived first, or that each had simply become aware of the other at the same time, hardly affected the thread of camaraderie that had begun to spin between them without so much as a word or proper introduction. Some implicit understanding blossomed in the silence, and continued to grow as the stately man clad in the colors of the earth began to speak to the wind, and the wind carried its sentimental tales to the one who lounged some paces away on a rock jutting out beneath the shade of a birch tree. Suddenly, they were no longer alone; from the mountain rose the afterimages of things once buried, people who laughed from the beaks of swallows that darted through the trees, and the fragrance of colors that existed only in nostalgia.

With his face half-turned to the other man and his eyes on the lantern’s ascent, Gallagher listened unobtrusively to the stories that gathered a parade of lives on its journey skyward. Lives so bright with fondness that he felt as though he were meeting each of them here now. In a display of gratitude, he offered up one of his own to join them:

Once there was a boy with the stars in his eyes. He became a mechanic for a train that sailed through galaxies, and dreamt every night of all the people he’d meet on all the worlds he’d visit. Blessed with kindness and compassion in his heart, he hoped to make each place a little brighter than he’d found it. However, compassion would hinder a nomadic life, and just as his journey was beginning, he saw a world in desperate need of his and companions’ aid. There he disembarked, and there he would stay for the rest of a long, difficult life. 

But the boy grown old still had the stars of his faraway youth in his eyes. He would visit the worlds he never could in his waking life. Whether in dreams. Or in memory.

So they went on like this, exchanging stories so old they might as well have been fiction, carried dutifully by the last remaining eyewitnesses of their respective tales. One remembered how one liked to remember, after all.

As the first lantern became yet another star in the dusky tapestry unfurling over the last embers of the afternoon, Gallagher released his own and leaned back on one arm to watch it drift slowly after it. The young mechanic had never seen this place, and the stars were different here than the ones he often gazed up at like a canary might through the bars of its cage, but wherever his tale was told, he lived in spirit. The man who had grown old before he’d traversed the stars could walk them again. What would he think of this place? Or the lives that he joined in their twinkling dance overhead?

Aether does nothing in halves.

Though it’s something he knows, the rapidly escalating situation unfolding in front of him is…amusing. Zhongli radiates nothing but patience where he stands, observing the artfully preserved tapestry in the room where the blonde is staying. True to form, the Wangshu Inn has collected many marvels over the centuries – he is prepared to spend the next few hours studying each elegant stitch.

In his peripheral, a vital piece of silk falls where it’s tied, likely improperly, and the process begins again.

“I am certain you aren’t expected to observe tradition,” he says for the second time, tone pitched to soothe. “Though the celebration’s host commissioned this for you, liberties can be taken.” An honored guest, the invitation said of the blonde. Zhongli doesn’t doubt it. The Traveler has a way about him, a kindness that influences every soul he meets. That it’s one of Liyue’s most notable families only warms him further.

When the telltale whisper of fabric speaks of another failure, Zhongli wonders if Aether would rather be late over snubbing the host’s generosity. He paces forward, “I happen to be familiar with this style, if you’ll allow me to assist you.” The fashion is outdated, but every few centuries what is considered old captures the public eye. He tells Aether as much as he kneels, guiding the blonde to hold the fabric steady as he weaves the golden silk around his waist. “…Though I do recall that this particular style fell from good graces as the people favored efficiency over beauty. When it was less common to have an attendant to help you dress. Nonetheless,” It is faster with two, his hands work with expert efficiency, standing at full height to assure himself that there is nothing amiss. After a few beats, he nods, “You wear it well.”

Celebrations, Aether was not unfamiliar with. He’s been lucky enough to make many treasured friends and allies during his journey and that meant many moments of joy to be shared as well. Formal events, however… were less the traveler’s forte. The invitation was accompanied by a beautiful outfit of traditional Liyue design, custom made in the boy’s own colors. It was a resplendent gift and though it might be far from his usual style of wear, it was only right to put it on for tonight. As a show of both gratitude as well as appreciation.

It was just unfortunate that, despite his best efforts, he was unable to put it on properly. Long flowing fabrics made it hard to discern what part of his body went where at first, and even when that part was taken care of there was still the matter of tying everything up properly. “Come on, you can do this…” the boy tried to cheer himself on, a tense look of concentration on his face.

He couldn’t. With but a single tug of his sleeve the entire outfit fell apart once again, elegant fabrics now hanging loosely on the wooden floor. Aether stood there silently for a moment, as if basking in his failure, before sighing defeatedly. It was only the voice of the other man in the room that snapped him out of his frustrated daze.

“I know, but….” He held up his arms, long sleeves draped over them. “They went through all the effort of tailoring this outfit for me… the least I could do is wear it properly for them.” A slightly awkward smile crossed his lips. Despite how capable of a reputation he had, here he was, defeated by clothing.

Aether quickly perked up then at Zhongli’s offer to help. “Oh, please do. This is embarrassing honestly, haha…” as he held up every piece of fabric as instructed, the golden gaze of the traveler landed on the consultant’s dexterous hands, watching as they made quick work of the clothing that vexed him so. It made sense for Zhongli to be good at this, the boy noted to himself. Across the ages, who knows how many formal events he’d have attended?

Venti mirrored the winds of Mondstadt, unpredictable and pulling in all directions. A taunt that frayed the foundation of his patience as he traversed the length of the small nation to varying degrees of the same:

“Oh… sorry, I haven’t seen him.” The bartender manning the counter of the Angel’s Share eyed the parcel in Zhongli’s hands. “Have you looked in any trees lately?”

“Venti?” A confused nun, face-flushed from the morning tasks. “Why would the bard be here?”

“…Nope! Sorry mister! Have you tried following the music? That usually works. Except…I don’t hear any music…so he’s probably not here.”

In their years of acquaintance, it was Barbatos who was prone to travel. Who would seek him out, whether by luck or by his own penchant for finding spaces he liked the most and staying. As the day came and went, he vowed to make things more difficult for the drunkard in the future if only to settle the score between them. The Dawn Winery was quiet, as were the frigid winds rushing from Vindagnyr’s lonely peaks.

As the day draws to a close, Zhongli settles at the foot of an ancient tree. Before him, an offering- fruit, wine, and several artfully wrapped scrolls of music, transposed from his own memory. “You always liked to compose new pieces for special occasions,” He pours two glasses of wine, tone conversational as he swirls the liquid around his glass. The scent is too sweet for his palate but tempered by several hundred years of fermentation. “A fleeting joy. Special to the moment, though I would very much like to hear them again.”

He would not admit it – lest it make the wind spirit more insufferable – but the pieces the bard thoughtlessly composed for his own birthdays made the memories so much brighter. Fond.

“Happy Birthday…Venti.” A slight smile is covered by the press of the glass, the sweet wine and the fluttering melody in his head; nostalgic. Overhead, leaves stir, agitated by wind or weight- it doesn’t matter.  Zhongli tips his head back, unable to see through the thick layer of leaves the willow provides. “To many more years, and the hope that our paths might once again be closely woven.”

A toast, he refills his glass, affecting a conflicted glance.“…Pity that I will have to waste half the bottle in your honor.” He could think of no better way to draw the bard from hiding than this, preparing to empty the contents of the bottle on the ground.

“Waaait - waitwaitwait - !” 

A flash of green and a scattering of feathers, and Venti was there, holding onto the bottle in Morax’s hands. “My mouth’s over here, not on the ground, silly!”

He must have spent the day in about a hundred different places, saying hello, sharing a drink, and perhaps accepting a gift or two - a small celebration at the church, a chance encounter in Mondstadt’s town square, a picnic in Windrise, a lively hour at the bar. But with each stop came a passing comment: “There was someone looking for you.”

From place to place, the bits and pieces he heard started to paint a picture - a long, dark ponytail; a Liyuean suit; an exasperated air. As amusing as it was to imagine Morax running in circles trying to find him, though, it was rude to keep a friend waiting - especially one so dear to him.

So finally, Venti had set out to find him - only to hear something truly blasphemous!

“If you wanted to see me, you could have just said something,” he said with a pout. He sat on the picnic blanket, cape fluttering onto the ground around him. “Maybe then you could have found me sooner, you blockhead! Well, better late than never.” 

Eyeing the carefully-wrapped scrolls sitting on the blanket, he picked up one of them and unfurled it.

Oh? 

“Aww! I knew you were secretly a big fan!” Venti said, hoping Morax hadn’t noticed the genuine surprise in his voice. “Never fear! For you, my friend, I’ll play an encore...” 

With his phone already in hand, Zhongli frowns. “I am having trouble navigating-“ A shriek draws his attention, followed by a deafening crash of shattering glass. At his side, the guard stiffens, muttering apologies as he goes.

The hotel is in chaos. Crying, shouting, pointed fingers at every corner – it seems nothing has been spared. Casino credits, jewels, priceless artifacts and…

His vision. Stolen directly from where it was secured to his person. How? His mind reels to think of it – he might never have noticed, were it not for the trace amount of geo energy that he tethers there, so that it would react as a normal vision for anyone who might be looking. It’s not the first time in six thousand years someone has attempted to steal directly from his person-

Though. It is the first time they’ve gotten away without swift retribution.

After several more swipes of his phone, Zhongli slips it into his pocket with a sigh. The resort’s app may have security features, though he’s unsure about the purchases behind identity theft that scroll across the screen. What good would it do him now, if his effects have already been carted away?

As before, there are very few traces afforded by his elemental sight.

‘A commendable skill, surely,’ He admits this to himself, eyes of molten cor lapis glimmering as he catches the smallest sliver of a golden trail, as good as any footprints etched into the ground before him. Not the thief’s trail, but his own. The geo aura clinging to the vision calls to him. An unfortunate oversight…but how many others could claim to maintain a false vision?

Despite this, the hunt is not a simple one. Confusion has him faltering, the trail vanishing in an instant, then drawing in a different direction. Somewhere far, like a seelie playing tricks – lighting here and then there and back again with only a flash of silver to ground him to a person over a ghost.

As the sun begins to set, Zhongli notes his patience is chipping. This time, his target is unmoving, wariness lining his shoulders like a shield as he approaches. It is the same woman, distinctive ears and tail unmistakable as he turns the corner to spot her. The damning geo trail of his stolen property halos around her, but he stifles the instinct to strike before she can flash away. If she were a specter…it would cause more spectacle than it was worth, trying to detain her.

“Pardon me,” He begins, the politeness of the greeting nearly overshadowed by the circumstance of their meeting. “I do not think we have been acquainted. I am Zhongli,” Normally, introductions are meant to be more. Tea and pleasantries, names and idle chatter. It’s a skill he has mastered, and so he folds his hands at his front and tilts his head down to examine her, “Forgive me. I seem to have lost something quite precious to me. If you have the time to lend a second pair of eyes, I would be most grateful. Miss…?” The clip of his tone offers honest curiosity. How did she do it?

FOR HOW ALIEN AND ADVANCED THIS PLACE LOOKED ,　𑄝　it'd taken her almost no time at all to figure out its ins and outs. empyrea wasn't so complicated ; once you got past how boxy and dead everything looked, how there was more metal than people, it was actually a pretty welcome place for someone like her! tall buildings that scraped the sky like obelisks meant plenty of vantage spots and hiding places ; lots of crowds and noise meant lots of distractions ; and everyone was staring down at their teleslates all the time like it was their default head position, so nobody was paying attention.

not to their surroundings, not to each other, and definitely not to one little kitty cat in the window, readying her pulleroo ~

"let's gooooo, mraurrrahahaha ~ !!!" in the midst of the shattering glass and screams and everything falling over, her happy trilling laugh gets totally drowned out. "mine, mine, mine! every little bit is mine!!"

credits, chips, sparkling crystals ; that one guy's nice belt. all of it, all of it!

she hops off the ledge and back out of sight to the song of chaos ongoing behind her, the haul already tucked away nice and easy. only one piece still stays on her person: a dangling little glowing thing she twirls around one finger as quick leaps vault her over onto the next rooftop over, then down the ledges of a fire escape and into a dark side street. the first week, she'd still been feeling things out, so she'd stuck to small prey: individuals here and there, a bauble or two hush-hush, building up to a much bigger heist like this one.

still though, it's not satisfying——it'd been too easy, too quick. barely any security to get by, no traps, hardly any stealth needed. and, as she takes a look around and behind her, not even anyone giving chase. where's a girl to have her fun? maybe on the next one, she'll at least let herself get caught to make things more interesting. "hope the haul at least makes up for it," she says to herself, zigzagging through some alleys and skirting the trimmed hedges at the edge of a mid-city park. since there's no one after her, she can afford to take her time: doubling back here, taking a detour there, grabbing some ice cream. thieving could be hard work! and in the height of summer?

finally, she finally settles down on an out-of-the-way bench in the shade of some big civil-looking building just as the sun is starting to make its way down the sky. as she lets down her hood to catch some of the early evening breeze to dry out the sweat, she gives the chocolate cone a few idle licks while turning the amulet curiously over the fingers of her other hand. at least, she thinks it's some kind of amulet. "now just what kind of trinket are you, hm, little shiny?" it looks pretty old-fashioned, maybe something traditionally-made. the amber rock fixed in a case in the middle had been glowing when she'd first taken it, but now it's gone dull and lifeless, like some power source had been shut off. how does she get it to shine like that again? she gives it a good shake, then flicks it.

maybe she needed some magic words.

hm? she sniffs the air, fur at the base of her tail prickling. someone's close.

"pardon me." not a couple seconds later, a deep voice interrupts her thoughts, and she drops her hands. when she turns around on the bench to see him, only the ice cream cone is still in them, and she gives the man addressing her a wary down-up.⠀(⠀it's not just because he might've come here for her ; who just walks up to strangers in a city and introduces himself?⠀)⠀a beat passes as if she's thinking for a second before replying: "what does you losing something have to do with me? i'd be rich if i had a credit for every careless person in this city." finishing the last of the chocolate cone, she gets up and stretches luxuriously with a sigh ; maybe he was here because he somehow managed to track her down, or maybe he really was just a clueless, desperate guy. oh well. it's not like she had anything better to do, and maybe this'd end up more fun than her earlier stunt.

“The quality of this mechanism is lacking,” An odd way to start a conversation, but the pair had done little more than lock eyes when the harried looking worker had ushered her onto the cart with a sorry, we’re too busy to have solo rides. “Perhaps this is why such a thing does not exist in Teyvat.” Or if it does, it’s unrecognizable to the structure that creaks to the barest brush of the wind rolling in from the ocean.

Regardless, Zhongli is inexplicably smug, letting his arm rest along the length of his side of the booth as he looks through the glass. Glass that only hinders them, should anything go wrong, but he keeps that observation to himself. He can admit that he’s startled by the sunset that paints the ocean ahead with warmth, depths of the color that make him long for home. “Unless such instability is to be the theme of our acquaintance.” He feels comfortable enough to breathe a bit of humor into his tone, catching the odd pattern of her gaze before abandoning it. He doesn’t know her name, only her title, where the small child had gleefully championed Father as their jenga pieces clattered noisily against the stone walkway. “I have been met with rockier foundations, though the view certainly helps.”

No sooner than the words leave his lips, fate responds as if challenged to do so. There is little wind, but the groaning snap of metal pings all around them, harsh and ominous as the gentle music filling the cart falters for static. They lurch. In his peripherals, Zhongli can see that other carts do the same, though his focus is on how they are tossed violently in the small space. Encased in glass, there is no safety rail to hold onto, and when their carriage finally tips to the side, Zhongli’s fingers are splayed wide against clear glass to break his fall.

So, the glass does have its uses. He can admit his fault there, unable to hear the people in the other carts screaming but knowing that they are by the faces he can pick out from this angle.

The static recedes, “We seem to be experiencing technical difficulties…please remain-” It cuts out.

Careful, he rights himself as best he can when their carriage has been put on its side, untangling his legs from hers as he goes. “My apologies,” Father seems uninjured, despite how the commotion had thrown Zhongli to her side so abruptly that he’s amazed he didn’t crush her. Fast reflexes, knowledge that he files away for later. A soft sound huffs past his lips, reluctantly laying back to stare at the sky overhead. Like this, there’s little room for them both. He considers apologizing for that, too. “Given the circumstances, we may be here for some time.” Part of him whispers that they could break the glass, though he’s not confident they’ll both survive the fall. “I don’t believe I learned your name when we last met.” Zhongli hadn’t needed to give his, being identified by many as they walked the streets in search of something sweet.

how peculiar, to find herself sharing an amusement park ride with a strange man that she had come across amidst the last lantern rite festival in liyue; zhongli, she seemed to recall, as the locals had called him. stranger still that she seems to recall a vague mention of such a name from rosalyne's report of her work in liyue, before her untimely passing in inazuma some months later. perhaps he is no more ordinary than she is herself, arlecchino considers, back straight against the seat on her side of the compartment, dark hands folded neatly in her lap, and marked eyes focused on him as he speaks in a way that makes her second-guess ( for many reasons ) if queueing for this ride was the right choice.

but for her part, she mostly listens.

she is content to do so as the ride climbs higher, golden and fading sunlight starting to flicker in her peripheral vision. instability... a reference to the game in the streets of liyue harbor, and the make of this machine now. his line of conversation about the ride's stability feels ominous somehow, and no sooner does he discuss it than something feels like it's going horribly wrong; a hand reaches out from her lap to try and grasp onto the seat to keep herself upright, but the jolt of breaking machinery is stronger than her own reflexes and determination.

the other passenger crashing into her happens in the next instant, finally provoking words in the form of a startled hiss. "damn it..." it feels like she's hit her head too, somehow; a dull, hammering thud pounds at the base of her skull. then, sharp and boiling irritation --- not quite fury, but something close --- stares zhongli squarely in the eyes, as though she held him responsible for this occurrence, based on his earlier words.

Spending precious hours sailing towards the Guyun Stone Forest is another thing entirely.

As the guide enthusiastically explains their significance, Zhongli braces a hand to the intricate railing of their ferry and listens to the tale of Rex Lapis and the sea monster Osial. This time, he does not interject, humming along as history reshapes itself into a much grander, shining example of heroism than he dares remember.

In the end, tours to this place are seldom for a reason. The waters often prove treacherous even for skilled navigators. As they are thrown to shore from the battered ship, he calls a geo shield to save the mortals from minor cuts and bruises amidst the wreckage.

“No…I had a dance class with my wife tonight…she’s going to kill me.”  Someone murmurs as Zhongli dusts sand from his clothing and observes the ship.

“Isn’t it bad luck to actually set foot here?” Ah, a native, then.

Without waiting, he strides for the secondary boat meant for such emergencies. “This vessel survived the impact,” He says, pitching his voice to carry over turbulent waves as he drags it to anchor in white sand. The group falters in an instant, all with eyes realizing that only six of the eight would be able to escape so easily. “Whether by what lies dead here, or some other force at play, the islands are more treacherous at night.” With an air of severity, he nods to their captain whose hydro vision guided them to shore. “If you go now, our rescue will arrive by morning.”

Zhongli would survive, watching the boat drift off with it’s passengers before addressing the other who remained. He could not recall the man’s name, though the set of his stance even at rest suggested a skill for combat. “I believe I know a place to rest, if you do not mind battle.” Amusement flickers across his expression, but forced, short lived as a memory overtakes him. “Though…proceed with caution. Legend whispers that those who brave the night in this place experience Osial’s memory of defeat in some way or another. Rather, I will help in whatever way I am able.”

Be the waters calm or wicked, the Dozing General does not mind the adventure. This world was foreign to him, filled with esoteric beliefs and practices that had long since been forgotten by his own people. Despite the difference in technology and jaded views on the world, they all had similar struggles and worries, trivial as they may be.

He has kept quiet for the majority of this trip, a thoughtful presence. Even as the tour seemed to cut through harsh waves, he found little concern. Finally, worry begets Jing Yuan as wood shatters along the shore, a deep riiiiiip leaving them off-kilter upon the shore.

Hands find the edge of the boat, helping himself over and through the edge of the water. Though his boots and pants were dampened, his spirit is not.

"Fate is what led us to wreckage, surely it cannot judge us too harshly." A pat on the shoulder to the one who worried too much. His own smile is (hopefully) as reassuring as his words.

Another seems to have a different sort of confidence.

It would seem that after smaller repairs, the rest of the tourists are able to board and begin their trek back to the harbor. A hand finds his hip as the two would watch, only to have his attention called. "Hmm? Battle does not scare me. I'm glad that they were able to return back to the harbor. Can I ask your name? You seem quite familiar with the land..." A thoughtful hum, summoning his own spear to use as a glorified walking stick. "Very well. I do not fear legends. I only fear that which is proven to me." Somber words boast a man too sure of himself.

…At least, he believes it must be a game.

His brow ripples in confusion, a hand at his lips as he considers the towering wood pieces as another delicately pushes a part away while others look on with bated breath. It tips but does not fall – to the tune of more betting, more cheer, and Zhongli stalls at the edges of it to watch. He nods as one of the game volunteers comes to ask him for his opinion of the match. “It seems to be alarmingly unstable. Perhaps replacing the foundation, rather than placing the pieces at the top.”

A pause, and he looks down to the giggling children that list nearby. “That’s the point of the game, Mister!” They must be young, five or six, he presumes. “It’s called Jenga, and you’ve gotta make your opponent be the one to knock it over first. It’s a strategy!”

At that moment, the crowd roars as the pieces fall and fly to every corner of the space. While he understands the premise, he fails to find the appeal…surprised again when small fingers curl into the fabric around his legs and pull for attention. “Mister…we gotta have an adult to play, since we can’t reach the pieces, but all the other adults really want to play. Can you be my adult? For one game only! Please!”

…When has he ever denied such a request from one of his own? “I accept the terms of your contract.” He answers lightly, and the other child begins searching the crowd, running to a tall woman in a sharply tailored suit, likely offering the same cry for help. After a moment, he steps carefully toward her, assessing the challenge. “A game with good company can always be considered worthwhile,” He offers in greeting, stooping to pick up his charge so that the child is level with the arranged blocks. “Even when the premise is somewhat…counterintuitive.”

lantern rite 2025.

standing on the peripheries of the game as children from the house intermingled with locals, it was surprising to see them wrangle in a man passing by first; marked eyes narrow, curious about his appearance. hadn't her coworkers mentioned encounters with someone... like this in liyue harbor? the way he speaks, even with these children, makes her curious.

but... it seems the child who's pulled him over is a local, not one of her own.

of course, when the children ( one of her children, as she'd expect ) do come up and pull her in as well, she does so with little protest.

a polite grin levels at her selected opponent --- then, head bows, and she waits a few more moments for the children to finish resetting the enormous blocks. "mm, you sound uncertain about the premise, sir --- do we need to review the rules of the game? the way we play this in fontaine, you pull out a block and then stack it higher on top. the person who topples the tower loses the round; best two of three."

with that, the game commences --- dark hands pull carefully at a block on her turn, then stack it higher on the tower once it comes free; the man pulled into the game plays his turn, and then each child receives another round of assistance.