Xiao stood with his arms crossed in front of Furina's guest room at Wangshu Inn. His face was unreadable, a mask of stoic indifference that he had perfected over centuries of solitude and strife. The sun had just risen, casting long golden beams across the stone railings of the inn's elevated walkways.
Below, in the misty wetlands of Dihua Marsh, cranes glided gracefully over the shallow waters, their wings slicing through the fog like silent blades. A distant bell rang from Liyue Harbor, its deep toll signaling the start of the merchant shift—a ritual as old as the city itself, marking the transition from night to the bustling commerce of day.
Xiao had hoped for a quieter Furina after their tense encounter yesterday. He had snapped at her in a rare display of raw emotion, revealing fragments of his tormented past, and he assumed it might have subdued her exuberance, at least for a while. But as the door creaked open, his hopes were dashed, replaced by a familiar resignation.
"Good morning!" Furina's bubbly voice rang out like a chime in a theater hall, bright and unyielding.
Xiao's shoulders tensed instinctively, a subtle shift that betrayed his discomfort. She emerged from the room in an entirely new outfit, one that screamed her flair for the dramatic: a silk aquamarine coat with buttons that shifted colors in the light—from deep ocean blue to shimmering teal—flared sleeves that billowed like sails in a gentle breeze, and intricate silver-threaded designs of clouds and bubbles dancing along the hem. It was a garment that blended Fontainian elegance with what she must have imagined as Liyuean mysticism, though it leaned more toward spectacle than subtlety.
Behind her floated her loyal Hydro constructs: Gentilhomme Usher, the octopus with its top hat perched jauntily, tentacles neatly arranging a small parasol; Surintendante Chevalmarin, the nervous seahorse, fluttering its fins as it balanced a delicate fan; and Mademoiselle Crabaletta, the armored crab, clacking her claws in evident annoyance as she dragged a small wheeled vanity case filled with who-knows-what trinkets.
"I hope my escort is well-rested, because we have a city to explore," she declared, spinning on her heel with a flourish that made her coat swirl around her like a whirlpool. "By the way, breakfast was excellent. The almond tofu was smooth and subtly sweet, melting on the tongue like a gentle wave, and what about those lotus flower pastries? Crisp on the outside, fluffy within, divine. Shall we?"
Xiao sighed, the sound barely audible over the distant rush of the Bishui River. Almond tofu, his own favored dish, though he rarely indulged. Had she ordered it on purpose? Or was it a coincidence? Either way, this day would test his patience, a trial far different from the abyssal horrors he was accustomed to facing, as he would have to navigate the challenges posed by Furina's incessant chatter and the unexpected circumstances of their journey.
As they descended from the inn's lofty perch, Furina chattered on, her voice a constant stream against the backdrop of nature's quiet symphony. "You know, Xiao, I've been thinking about yesterday. Your words... they lingered. Not in a negative way, mind you—more like a melody that refuses to fade from an opera's final act. But let's not dwell; today is for discovery"
He didn't respond, his golden eyes scanning the horizon for threats that weren't there. The path to Liyue Harbor wound through bamboo groves and over arched bridges, the air thick with the scent of dew-kissed earth and faint incense from roadside shrines. Furina's constructs trailed behind, occasionally bumping into each other with comedic timing: Usher dropping a handkerchief, Chevalmarin darting to retrieve it, and Crabaletta snapping her claws in frustration.
The morning market in Liyue Harbor was already a hive of activity when they arrived, a vibrant tapestry of colors, sounds, and scents that assaulted the senses in the best possible way. Red lanterns hung from taut cords strung between stalls, catching the sun like scattered embers from a forge. Vendors hawked their wares with rhythmic calls: fresh lychees piled in woven baskets, their skins glistening like jewels; porcelain tea sets etched with intricate patterns of dragons and phoenixes; scrolls of calligraphy unfurled on low tables, ink still drying on poetic verses; and talismans blessed by minor priests, promising protection from ill fortune or enhancement of prosperity.
The air was a heady mix of sandalwood incense, sizzling fried tofu from street carts, and the earthy undertone of freshly ground herbs. In the distance, near the northern pavilion, street musicians tuned their erhu and pipa, the strings humming in anticipation of the day's melodies.
They hadn't taken five steps into the throng when an old woman seated at a modest shrine stall caught Furina's eye. She was hunched over a display of thin incense sticks, her wrinkled hands arranging them with care. Spotting the newcomers, she offered one to Furina with a toothless smile.
"How nice!" Furina cooed, taking the stick and inhaling deeply, her eyes closing in exaggerated bliss. "Mmm. This smell would be perfect for my room. It keeps the air fresh and wards off evil spirits, doesn't it? I can already imagine it mingling with my Fontainian perfumes—a cross-cultural symphony of scents!"
The seller blinked, her expression shifting from polite to gently corrective. "Oh, no, Miss.. This incense is for the departed. It carries prayers and memories to those who have passed. People place it at family altars or shrines to guide the deceased, especially during the Lantern Rite, a festival when the veil between the living and the dead is believed to thin.
Furina paused mid-sniff, her cheeks flushing a faint pink beneath her makeup. "Oh... I see. Ancestral vibes, then. Of course, it was culturally insensitive of me not to recognize it immediately. She smiled, albeit a bit embarrassed, and carefully tucked the incense into her sleeve. "I'll light it with the utmost respect later. Perhaps at dusk, when the stars align."
Xiao watched from the shadow of a nearby carved stone lion, its fierce expression mirroring his own guarded one. She hadn't meant rudeness; that much was clear. Furina was simply unfamiliar with Liyue's ways, her enthusiasm outpacing her knowledge. He wondered idly if she had studied any customs at all before arriving or if her "vacation" was truly as impulsive as it seemed. Still, her quick recovery—turning the mistake into a moment of grace—showed an adaptability he could almost respect.
They continued on, weaving through the crowd. Furina's eyes darted everywhere, alight with curiosity. "Look at that vendor over there, Xiao! Those silk fans, do you think they're hand-painted? Oh, and the spices! The aroma is intoxicating. Reminds me of the markets in Fontaine, but with more... earthiness."
He grunted noncommittally, his vigilance never waning. The harbor's energy was a double-edged sword: vibrant life, but also potential chaos. A group of children ran past, laughing as they chased a stray dog, and Furina beamed at them, waving dramatically. One child stopped, staring wide-eyed at her constructs. "Are those... pets?"
"Companions, darling!" Furina replied, kneeling slightly to let Chevalmarin float closer. The seahorse twirled nervously, earning a giggle from the child. "They're from Fontaine, just like me. Want to say hello?"
The child nodded shyly, reaching out a hand. Chevalmarin hesitated, then gently nudged the child's palm with its snout. The interaction drew a small crowd of onlookers: merchants pausing their sales, elders murmuring approvals or suspicions. Xiao shifted uncomfortably; attention was the last thing he wanted.
Moving on, they passed a booth near the Feiyun Commerce Guild where a young boy shouted energetically, "Guess the jade and win a prize!" The stall was surrounded by sparkling stones nestled in silk-lined boxes, each one gleaming under the sun.
Furina's eyes lit up like stage lights. She practically teleported over, her coat swirling. "This looks promising! A game of perception and instinct. Let's see if Fontaine's greatest mind can spot the real jade amidst the fakes."
The vendor, a wiry man with a nervous tic, bowed hastily. "Y-yes, Miss.. One is genuine jade, blessed by the Geo Archon himself, or so the legend goes. The others are quartz, serpentine, and even some cleverly dyed glass. Care to try? Only a few more for a guess."
"Misdirection, I see," Furina said, narrowing her eyes like a detective in one of her beloved operas. She leaned in, examining each stone with exaggerated scrutiny, tapping her chin. "But what if none are real? What if this event is a grand scam orchestrated by the Qixing to test the wits of travelers? Or perhaps Lady Ningguang herself is behind it, using it as a metaphor for the contracts that bind Liyue!"
The vendor paled, his eyes darting around as if expecting the Tianquan to materialize. "No, no! It's all honest, I swear. Lady Ningguang would never—"
Before Furina could pursue her conspiracy theory, Xiao's hand settled firmly on her sleeve. His touch was light but insistent. "We're leaving."
"What? But I was just getting to the good part! I was going to guess the third one from the left. It's got that authentic gleam!"
Xiao met her eyes, his golden gaze unyielding. With a theatrical groan, she relented, allowing him to guide her away. The vendor exhaled in relief, wiping sweat from his brow.
"You don't play around when you're divine, do you?" she muttered, glancing up at him as they walked. "Is this what centuries of fighting monsters does to a person? "Does it turn you into a statue of silence and duty?"
He didn't respond, but his jaw tightened slightly. Furina huffed, crossing her arms. "Fine, be that way. But mark my words, that jade game had potential for drama."
They pressed on, the market's energy enveloping them. Furina stopped at a stall selling herbal teas, sampling a few sips and declaring one "reminiscent of Fontaine's finest blends, but with a Liyuean kick." She purchased a small pouch, tucking it away with the incense. Xiao remained vigilant, his senses attuned to any whisper of danger—though in this sea of mortals, the only "threat" was Furina's boundless energy.
As they approached a pavilion adorned with strips of red prayer papers fluttering in the breeze, Furina's pace slowed. She frowned up at them, her head tilted in genuine curiosity. "So, what is this 'Lantern Rite' that everyone keeps mentioning? Wishes and floating lights? It sounds enchanting, like a grand performance under the stars."
Xiao's voice was quiet, his eyes fixed on the horizon rather than her. "It's more than that."
She turned to him, her expression attentive for once, devoid of her usual flair. The shift caught him off guard, but he continued, his tone soft yet firm, laced with the weight of memories. "It's when Liyue honors the departed. Each lantern carries a prayer for the lost and a promise that they'll be remembered. They remain part of the world, even after leaving it. It's not just lights; it's a bridge between the living and the gone, a way to ease the pain of separation."
His words hung in the air, carrying a rare vulnerability. Furina blinked, surprised by the depth in his voice. For a moment, she saw beyond the adeptus guardian—the lone Yaksha burdened by karma—and recognized the survivor who had lost so much. "I see," she whispered, her voice softening. "In Fontaine, we have festivals too, but they're more about celebration than remembrance. This... this feels heavier. More meaningful."
The moment lingered, a fragile thread of understanding between them. But it was interrupted when a middle-aged merchant in embroidered robes approached, bowing deeply with a warm smile.
"I thought that was you, Adeptus Xiao," the man said, his voice filled with gratitude. "I never got to thank you properly. A month ago, those Treasure Hoarders ambushed our caravan in the northern pass. You appeared out of nowhere, dispatched them like shadows in the wind, and vanished before we could even offer you tea."
Xiao nodded curtly, his posture stiffening.
"Of course you remember," the man laughed heartily. "You're a legend for a reason. Thanks again. May Rex Lapis bless you." He bowed once more and melted back into the crowd.
Furina glanced at Xiao, noting his absence of a smile and his unease in his stance. "You don't like praise, do you? It's as if it's a burden rather than a gift."
"I don't do it for praise," he replied flatly. "Duty is its own reward...or curse."
She watched him for a few more steps, her expression thoughtful. There was more to him than the brooding warrior: layers of pain, guilt, and quiet honor that she was only beginning to glimpse.
They reached a row of food stalls, the aromas intensifying: grilled skewers of meat, steaming dumplings, sweet osmanthus cakes. Furina finally slowed her pace, her earlier energy tempered. For the first time that morning, she didn't joke or twirl. Instead, she gazed up at a lone paper lantern drifting skyward, released early by a family honoring a lost elder. It floated lazily, its light a soft glow against the blue sky.
"Do the messages reach them?" she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "The departed, do they hear the prayers?"
Xiao didn't answer immediately. When she looked, he was gone—vanished like a wisp of Anemo.
Furina stood at the path's edge, a flicker of frustration crossing her face. Chevalmarin bobbed in the air beside her, pointing its tail toward a sloped hillside above the harbor, spinning once for emphasis.
"Of course," she sighed, adjusting her coat. "Climb the hill. Because simply saying, 'I need a moment' is too mortal for him."
She tightened her sash, rolled her shoulders, and began the ascent. The path was steeper than it appeared from below, winding through a side trail behind the market. Crickets chirped softly in the undergrowth, and small patches of glowing moss clung to the edges of ancient stone steps—perhaps remnants of Lantern Rite offerings or simply one of Liyue's natural wonders. The air grew cooler as she climbed, carrying the faint salt tang from the harbor below.
Her breathing remained steady, her steps purposeful. Years of stage training: choreography, endless rehearsals, and full-length operas performed without a break had built her stamina. She wasn't a warrior like Xiao, but she knew the grind of endurance.
Still, she questioned her actions. Why follow? She could have stayed below, ordered tea from a vendor, let Crabaletta polish her boots, or let Usher organize her trinkets. Instead, she was chasing a silent adeptus up a hill for reasons she couldn't quite name. Curiosity? Concern? Or something deeper, a recognition of shared isolation?
At the top, the trees parted to reveal a wide, grassy clearing bathed in sunlight. Furina stopped in her tracks. Xiao stood near the edge of a small cliff, his back to her, gazing out at the horizon. The ocean stretched like molten silver under the midday sun, its waves lapping at the distant shores. Below, Liyue Harbor sparkled, its rooftops a mosaic of gold and red, lanterns beginning to glow softly as the day leaned toward dusk. The sky was a soft lavender, fading to gold, the sun halfway down behind a line of jagged mountains.
She approached slowly, her heels sinking slightly into the grass. "Xiao?" she called softly, not wanting to startle him.
He turned, and for a brief moment, their gazes met. His eyes held softness and distance rather than anger; they were lost in thought, trapped in some distant memory. He looked away, back to the horizon.
Furina hesitated. Had she said something wrong? Or was her presence an intrusion? She walked closer, her steps quiet and deliberate. She stood beside him at the cliff's edge, arms crossed, sharing the view in silence.
The silence stretched, no longer awkward but heavy with purpose. Furina let her eyes wander over the landscape. She had seen pictures of Liyue's vistas—elegant paintings in Fontainian salons, sketches by traveling artists, and even stage backdrops attempting to capture the grandeur of its mountains. But nothing prepared her for this: the vastness, the quiet majesty, the way the light danced on the water like a living thing. It wasn't just beautiful; it felt sacred, as if the land itself whispered stories of ancient gods and forgotten battles.
As she observed Xiao from the corner of her eye, she wondered what this view meant to him. What thoughts churned beneath that impassive exterior! She realized, with a pang, that he was mourning—grieving for those lost, the weight of his karma a constant companion.
Without a word, he turned and walked toward a shady alcove just beyond the clearing's edge.
With curiosity, Furina followed, her constructs hovering silently behind. The alcove revealed a small shrine, appearing without fanfare, half-hidden by wind-sculpted trees. Its tiled roof was covered in moss and the patina of time, with stone lanterns lining the steps with faded inscriptions. Old red charms hung from a rusty offering rack, fluttering faintly. The air smelled of old pine, ash, and lingering incense—a place of quiet reverence.
It wasn't grand like the cathedrals of Fontaine or the opulent temples of Liyue Harbor. It was modest, deliberate, and almost forgotten.
Furina stopped at the courtyard's edge as Xiao stepped forward and knelt before the altar. He took a thin stick of incense from a nearby bowl, its charcoal tip ready. Striking a match against the shrine's stone wall, he lit it, holding it in both hands for a long, breathless moment. His eyes closed briefly, his lips moving in silent prayer. Then he placed it in the burner, the smoke curling upward in thin spirals.
The silence was no longer empty; it was filled with unspoken memories, the weight of loss palpable.
Furina didn't need to ask who he prayed for; she could guess. Her eyes fell on a small carving beneath the shrine's eaves: five Yaksha masks, lined up in a solemn row. Four were cracked and weathered by time and sorrow; two were nearly crumbled to dust. Only one remained whole, its features sharp and unyielding.
Her throat tightened. This shrine wasn't for a god like Rex Lapis or the Seven. It was for the dead—for warriors who had fought alongside Xiao, the other Yaksha who had fallen to madness, karma, or the endless wars. Bosacius, Indarias, Bonanus, Menogias... names she had read in passing from merchant tales, but now they felt real, etched in stone and silence.
She turned her gaze to Xiao. He sat upright, shoulders tense despite his stillness. He appeared fragile, a quality that contradicted his immortal strength. He was unmoving, lost in contemplation.
Then, without a sound, he was gone. He vanished in a swirl of Anemo, leaving only the faintest ripple in the air.
"Wait—" Furina spun, her voice echoing in the empty space, but he was truly gone. It was like a breeze passing through leaves or an unfinished thought.
She stood there alone, the incense smoke coiling around her, the fading sunlight casting long shadows. For the first time since arriving in Liyue, Furina felt small—not insignificant or powerless as she had feared during her Archon days, but small in the face of something vast, quiet, and aching. The shrine's humility contrasted with her own life's grandeur, yet it mirrored her inner turmoil: a monument to loss, hidden from the world.
She stepped closer, gently tracing the edge of the incense bowl with her finger. The warmth lingered. "Who do you pray for?" she whispered, the question dissolving in the wind. No answer came, but in the silence, she felt the echo of his pain.
As the sun dipped lower, Furina descended the hill, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts. Her constructs followed, sensing her mood—Usher offering a tentative tentacle pat, Chevalmarin floating closer for comfort. Crabaletta simply clacked along, her presence a grounding force.
Back at the inn, the sky turned plum and gold, the last rays sinking behind the mountains. Liyue Harbor transformed into a dreamscape below, paper lanterns blooming in the dark like floating stars, music drifting from taverns and open courtyards. Boats bumped gently against piers, their sails furled for the night. The air carried the scent of grilled fish, sesame rice cakes, and blooming night flowers.
Furina sat on her room's balcony, one elbow on the railing, the other hand stirring a lukewarm cup of tea she had mostly forgotten about. The view was magical, yet a strange silence settled in her chest.
An echo she couldn't identify.
She tapped the cup's side, glancing behind her. Mademoiselle Crabaletta had curled up asleep next to her pile of bags, her shell rising and falling rhythmically. Chevalmarin floated lazily near the lantern, jumping back when fireflies ventured too close. Gentilhomme Usher organized her travel books by spine color, tentacles working with precise efficiency.
None could answer the question gnawing at her: Why had Xiao vanished like that? Not just physically, but mentally—like remembering a pain he wasn't ready to share.
Furina's eyes returned to the night. The shrine had shifted something in her. Not a grand, divine revelation, but a subtle, unsettling one. In Fontaine, altars were ornate, gold-plated, and surrounded by law and light. Xiao's was humble, nearly forgotten, and untended by the city. It was his alone—a private tribute to ghosts.
She sighed deeply, the sound lost in the wind.
Then she saw him.
Across the inn's slanted rooftop, Xiao stood like a shadow etched in silver moonlight. His figure was outlined sharply, and his posture was alert—not the brooding quiet of before, but the tense and alert he is now. Something had caught his attention.
Furina leaned forward, careful not to rattle the railing. The wetlands below were calm, with lotus flowers floating gently. Lantern lights reflected on returning boats. The wind carried warmth, cooked fish, and oil.
But Xiao's face told a different story. He tilted his head, eyes narrowing. His body tensed, and he vanished in a leap, polearm materializing in a swirl of green.
Furina's instincts flared. Her heart raced. She grabbed her coat, told her constructs to stay, and slipped down the wooden stairs quietly.
The night had grown eerily quiet: no cicadas chirping, no distant laughter from the harbor. She followed the path Xiao had taken, her heels muffled on the grass. She didn't know what she was doing—challenging an adeptus in his element? But she needed to know.
By the lower cliff path, the silence was oppressive. Then, a faint pulsing light flickered from behind a rise of stone, like moonlight on broken glass.
Furina crept closer, crouching behind a ledge. Her breath caught.
There it was.
A creature, half-humanoid, half-melted elemental core, staggering on limbs like broken pillars. Its form crackled with unstable Geo and Hydro energy, its body twisted as if forced into existence. The head pulsed with a blue crystal and hissed whenever air made contact with it in an incorrect manner.
Xiao stood before it, polearm lowered slightly, assessing.
The creature screeched distortedly, echoing like a prayer torn apart. It lunged, claws extending with a wet crack.
Xiao dodged in a flash of green, his body a blur. His polearm slashed, cutting deep into the creature's side. It howled, splitting into two smaller forms, each breathing elemental mist that scorched the ground.
Furina covered her mouth, heart pounding. This wasn't a show like Fontaine's duels. It was raw, efficient violence. Xiao fought without fanfare, breaths steady, strikes lethal.
The smaller forms reformed, lashing with hydro whips fused with geo spikes. Xiao teleported behind one, impaling it. The other charged; he spun, polearm arcing in a whirlwind that dispersed the mist. But it reformed, adapting, its core pulsing faster.
Xiao's expression hardened. He leaped high, channeling Anemo winds howled, pulling the forms together. His final strike pierced the core; it clinked like shattering ice, light fading in a burst of energy.
He exhaled, standing still. Blood trickled down his arm from a graze.
He glanced toward her hiding spot.
He then vanished.
Furina emerged with her pulse racing. The snakes hissed, grass blackening around them. The energy felt spiritually wrong, as if elements never meant to merge had been forced.
A scrape of stone echoed.
Another creature: a larger, hollow chest pulsing, limbs dripping water, forming pools that crystallized into Geo shards.
It sensed Xiao above, screaming a low vibration that made her teeth ache, like underwater cries.
Xiao dropped, polearm slashing downward. The blade bit into its shoulder, but the creature roared, slamming a fist into the ground. Cracks spread, and geo spikes erupt.
Xiao evaded, but a shard grazed his leg. He winced, teleporting aside. The creature adapted, limbs morphing into spires, hydro-coating them in razor ice.
Strikes landed, but each cost Xiao. Furina saw the flickers: slower movements, heavier breaths. Karmic debt stirring.
He activated Bane of All Evil. The mask formed in a ripple of power, eyes glowing. Pain flashed beneath it, hurting him every time.
The fight intensified. Xiao dashed, polearm a green streak, parrying spikes and countering with Anemo bursts. The creature countered, hydro waves crashing into geo walls, forcing him back.
A claw raked his side; he staggered, blood soaking the fabric. Furina's heart clenched.
Xiao rallied, mask cracking under strain. He channeled deeper, the wind howling, pinning the creature. The polearm thrust and the core shattered in a shockwave, stones flying.
He rolled, landing in a crouch, and stumbled. The mask dissolved, pieces too light.
He fell to one knee.
Furina ran forward. "Xiao!"
"Stay back."
"You're bleeding badly."
"I've had worse."
She stopped near the remains. "What was that? It wasn't natural."
"No," he replied, still looking at the spot where the creature had been.
"Who made it?"
"Not sure. But it shouldn't combine Geo and Hydro like that. It's wrong. It's not Abyss, but... close."
Furina touched the core. It gave a hiss. "It knew me. Like it remembered something."
Their eyes met, unspoken understanding dawning.
This was just the beginning.
End of Chapter