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i. adeptus
yanfei used to be afraid to love.
to love did not just mean the readiness to accept everything about the other.
to the adepti, to truly love another meant that you were ready to accept that that love, as wondrous as it may seem, was ill-fated to begin with.
a cruel joke played by celestia—the temptation to reach out and embrace ever so painfully great, yet the only thing holding her back was the very immortality she had been blessed with.
yanfei used to wonder if that was the price to pay for the longevity of life; that the adepti may see all and hear all, have their memories as clear as the centuries of written word passed down by historians, but never be fated to see anything last.
empires had fallen and pieced themselves together under the watchful eye of the adepti, wars had been waged and ravaged the land as much as those ancient gods once did, but still the adepti remained.
and still the adepti distanced themselves from the mortals, choosing to dwell within the unlit crevices of mountains rather than face the city, so very vibrant and full of life . for each of them knew, either from experience or fear, that the faces of the very mortals they may see today will only fade into the countless others.
they did not wish to know one, only to return and find that not a sliver of the life that the mortal had lived...remained. so fragile and fleeting, the adepti had commented crudely on the existence of humans, but it did not stifle the temptation to know more.
perhaps owing to her half-adeptus lineage, yanfei had never shared those particular fears. she wandered liyue harbour’s streets as freely as any citizen, and had since earned the right to call herself one of their own by proving invaluable as a legal advisor.
yet despite all she did to fit in, she never quite knew how to love. or perhaps—deep down, the legal advisor knew when her gaze first landed on the eccentric director of the wangsheng funeral parlour—she was afraid .
not afraid to forget, no; she doubted she would ever be able to erase that sweet scent of plum blossoms that lingered in her sharper sense of smell, or that brilliant light in hu tao’s crimson eyes that she could never shake off.
it was mesmerizing, truly, to see such a soft and quiet happiness in those remarkable eyes, every bit of hu tao’s demeanour displaying true pride in her line of work.
that mortal did not care for the barely concealed whispers of others at all. no, she sauntered about the streets like she owned every inch of it, and flashed careless smirks at those who were foolish enough to steer their children away from her.
yanfei always thought crimson to be a colour of war; the colour of endless bloodshed, and the only colour she could compare to the pained screeches that tore from the throats of mortals as they witnessed their loved ones fall, never to rise again.
but in hu tao’s gaze, she saw wild, untamed beauty.
she saw the courage that burned so brightly within, able to take every prejudiced insult hurled her way, and stand firm in her ground.
she saw the sorrow that the director took pains to conceal, choosing to show the world a better version of herself, day after day.
but most importantly, yanfei saw the determination that hu tao had to stay true to her own beliefs. the mortal did not bother changing to please others; she did not bother changing to fit in .
and yanfei didn’t know where that left her—to love a spirit that burned so brightly, bringing out the inner flame within yanfei herself that she had once tried so hard to put out, only to have it eventually flicker out into nothing but embers and ashes.
until one day, the winds would rage violently enough to blow those away, too.
ii. mortal
hu tao never thought that she would understand those who feared death.
death was as dear as a business partner in her occupation, and hu tao saw nothing in it to fear.
it was just a hand that came to claim all at the end of their journey, and that was that. it had always been simple, straightforward and certainly nothing taboo to the director; her very job was to lead those who passed into the gates of the afterlife.
so, no, she didn’t understand the parents who looked at her with disdain. she didn’t understand those who sought to hide their children from the truth of death, as if hiding the body of a dead pet would bring it back to life, or excusing a relative’s extended absence for “travelling elsewhere” would make missing them any easier.
hu tao was no stranger to death. she had lost her grandfather long ago, and since then, the title of director of the wangsheng funeral parlour had fallen onto her shoulders.
but the girl never resented death for taking away her grandfather, or for the additional responsibility that some may say she was too young to take up. she alone knew for a fact that her grandfather had passed on with no further regrets, and saw no reason to linger as a spirit, much like the countless directors before him.
and that was the life hu tao sought to carve out for herself, even before her fingers reached for the final crumbs of the bread loaf she had stuffed in her bag—and dug into warm metal instead. the vision warmed her with a stubborn determination that allowed the young hu tao to survive the merciless winds of wuwang hill in winter, and the director knows that the divine interference was intentional.
because that fateful night, she could have sworn a soft voice whispered into her ear. it’s not your time yet, child. go live out your life, the way your grandfather would have wanted you to.
so that hu tao did, and she made sure to remain unabashedly herself throughout the entire process, never once faltering to let grief and regret catch up. even the flaming butterflies—those infamous escorts to afterlife—danced at her heels, and hu tao knew the hushed whispers of death incarnate similarly trailed after her, every step of the way.
but still the director never sought to change. befriending inanimate objects, composing annoyingly catchy tunes, writing poetry in the twilight hours of night...hu tao did it all, and she was proud of it, too!
definitely not one to be afraid of trying new things , xingqiu had once said about her, and hu tao would be inclined to agree...if she wasn’t currently trying not to look like she was eavesdropping on the legal advisor diligently explaining article 65 of the excessively complicated liyue law.
there had always been something about yanfei that hu tao was inexplicably drawn to.
maybe it was her wonderful charisma, or that remarkable ability to put anyone at ease, or even just her pure dependability.
maybe it was even the easy banter the pair fell into naturally, or that rare feeling of being truly understood.
whatever it was, hu tao found herself clinging onto yanfei, and she never wished to let go.
it was that very realisation which terrifies the director.
for hu tao knew, better than anyone else, that she would always simply be on borrowed time as a mortal.
and maybe it was selfish of her, but for once, hu tao wished for something more . the girl wished, for the first time, that death would not claim her—even if only because she was afraid of regretting this love.
so at last, the mortal slowly started to understand the fear of death.
but perhaps she feared the inevitable regret of ever loving even more; feared what it would do to her, to linger in the overworld—only to watch yanfei mourn.
and so for both of their sakes, hu tao hoped; foolishly hoped .
she hoped that yanfei’s fire wouldn’t flicker when her own flames winked out.