"Could the story of the Chasm disaster be made up?"
"Absolutely not. Monsters did appear there. But Lord Menogias would never have helped them fight."
"So the part about the yaksha must be fabricated…"
When news of the Chasm reached the heartland of Liyue, people believed that monsters had indeed appeared there. But because the name Menogias was mentioned, few believed the part about the yaksha. No one knew that the yaksha who had fought at the Chasm was not Menogias at all. His name was Bosacius. Even in death, the people did not know that Bosacius had fought for them.
But regardless of the doubts of those in the city, the mountain people and miners who lived in the Chasm knew that a four‑armed yaksha had fought for them and died beneath the earth. So, based on their memories of the Millelith, of Boyang, and of the yaksha, they built statues in the Chasm to commemorate those who had sacrificed themselves.
Of all those who fought in that battle, only Rongzhao survived—and he had gone mad. Yet even in his madness, he did not forget one thing. He climbed alone to the highest peak of the Chasm and planted the Spear of Comradeship there—the weapon that had been through countless battles, stained with the blood of countless monsters.
After that, Rongzhao disappeared.
Some said he returned home and lived out his remaining years peacefully under his family's care, dying of old age a hundred years later and being buried in the Chasm.
Others said that, mad and having forgotten his family and his battles, he wandered for years on the strength of a subconscious urge, eventually reaching Liyue, where he survived a painful existence on the charity of Wanmin Restaurant.
When the people of Liyue saw a madman on the streets, rummaging through piles of rubbish for food, they never imagined that this madman was a hero who had protected Liyue—one who had given everything to save the nation.
When people speak of the fallen Boyang, of the fallen yaksha, of the fallen Millelith, let them not forget the name Rongzhao. He did not fall in battle, but he suffered more than if he had. He lived, but his heart died.
And finally, let us say thank you to all the heroes who once protected Liyue. Liyue is great because of them.
...
At Wangshu Inn in Liyue, when Li Mo finished the story of the tenth life, even he could not help but sigh. Compared to his other reincarnations, this one was far too tragic. In other lives, even in death, he had protected those around him. But in this life, the shaman Boyang who had fought beside him and the Millelith soldiers had all died underground. They were all heroes.
When Li Mo finished, the entire inn fell silent. It was a long time before anyone stirred.
"If not for them holding the rift and sealing it at the cost of their lives, all of Liyue would have been reduced to ashes."
"But in the end, they didn't even leave their names."
"Rongzhao was so pitiful. Even mad, he never forgot the last wishes of the Millelith and Bosacius. He came to Liyue—but as a madman, he couldn't fulfill those wishes."
"Thank Wanmin Restaurant for giving Rongzhao his final warmth."
"Thank all the heroes who protected Liyue. Their sacrifice built this great nation."
"Liyue will never forget these heroes."
Most of the audience were natives of Liyue. Hearing this story, they were deeply moved. Some wept openly, tears streaming down their faces, unable to wipe them away.
Now, in a corner of the inn, after listening to the story, Shenhe's gaze toward Li Mo began to change. Her expression was complicated—affection, pity, confusion, and uncertainty.
"So he went through this too. How much suffering has he endured?"
Having experienced suffering herself, Shenhe understood its pain. But compared to Li Mo's hundred lives, what were her trials? Merely a fragment of his long journey.
In that moment, she wanted to rise, walk to the stage, and hold Li Mo's head gently against her chest, to comfort him. But she remembered what he had said: he still had important things to finish. She could not disturb him now, nor add to his pain. She could only watch him from the corner with tender eyes, silently supporting him.
Just then, Hu Tao finally spoke. "Shenhe, you don't really like the storyteller, do you? Have you forgotten the boy who protected you in that life?"
Shenhe did not deny it.
Xiangling defended her. "Stop it. Shenhe is a disciple of the adepti. How could she fall for an ordinary storyteller?"
Shenhe was silent.
Xiangling continued, "That poor Rongzhao, the only one who survived. He came back to Liyue Harbor with his companions' last wishes but couldn't fulfill any of them. He must have suffered terribly. Keqing, you're one of the Qixing. Can you build a monument for those who defended the Chasm?"
At her suggestion, others chimed in.
Qiqi: "Yes—monument."
Hu Tao: "Not just a monument. We should hold a grand funeral for them. And since they gave their lives to protect Liyue, it will be free of charge."
Even Shenhe, the disciple of the adepti, spoke. "That is a good idea."
As she spoke, she glanced again at Li Mo on the stage. Since she could not comfort him directly, she would build a monument for his past life—a form of comfort in itself.
Hearing them, Keqing thought for a moment and immediately agreed. "Yes, it is a good suggestion. As Liyue moves forward, we must never forget our past, nor the heroes of our past."
As the one in charge of land, livelihood, and construction, erecting monuments for fallen heroes fell within Keqing's purview.
Just as everyone was discussing, a Wangsheng Funeral Parlor worker approached Hu Tao and whispered, "Director, the storyteller has finished. Shall we distribute the flyers now?"
Hu Tao smiled. "Go ahead. But you don't need to give any to Zhongli's table."
The worker breathed a sigh of relief. "Understood."
Thank goodness. He wouldn't have to risk his life handing out flyers.
Hu Tao smiled. "I'll personally promote it to that table."