Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Ah, yes. I used to celebrate my birthday at the end of the year,” Zhongli admits, the sentiment humming in his voice; he sees no reason to suppress it. The Lantern Rite was promised to the other Adepti—they deserve a day focused solely on them and their glorious work to keep Liyue safe. As for himself… that day was always meant for those closest to him.

Winter in Liyue Harbour brings little more than a colder breeze sweeping in from the sea, even at their favourite table in Third-Round Knockout. Childe doesn’t seem to mind, the last rays of the sun catching in his copper hair as he nearly sprawls across the back of his chair. With each passing week, Childe grows more comfortable in Zhongli’s presence—watching him like this, both adorable and confident, is a pleasure Zhongli can’t deny himself.

“Used to? I don’t like the way you say that, xiansheng.” Childe shakes his head, strands of ginger hair brushing against his nose. “I don’t see why you’re not doing it. Half the harbour adores you, and the other half at least respects you. Whatever you might say about yourself, it’s not like you’re some miserable hermit. You deserve a celebration!” Childe beams so joyfully, so genuinely, his smile wide enough to show his teeth; the corners of his eyes crinkle… and the eyes themselves hide a mischievous glint.

The Harbinger, the Tsaritsa’s Vanguard? In Zhongli’s presence, the powerful man often chooses to disturb his peace in ways far from those lethal.

“Don’t worry about money, Zhongli-xiansheng! I’ll cover all the expenses. Just tell me what you want. A dinner at Liuli Pavilion? Or Xinyue Kiosk? How many guests? Should I ask Master Liu Su for a performance? Or—or maybe you’d prefer a tea evening instead? I could ask Xigu Antiques to rent the space of their last exhibition. You’d invite your scholar friends, and I’m pretty sure I could ask Sumeru’s Fatui squad to get us some expert from the Akademiya—”

Zhongli smiles tenderly, ever so slightly to not disturb Childe as he goes on and on about plans for Zhongli’s birthday. Ah, Zhongli may be quite… recognisable in Liyue Harbour, but some moments are best spent simply enjoying tea in the company of friends and close acquaintances—a family of sorts.

“Childe,” Zhongli begins calmly, clasping Childe’s wildly gesticulating hand between his palms. His companion freezes, a sharp tingle spreading through his soldier’s body. Zhongli is ready to withdraw his hands a second later, but Childe relaxes, leaning back into his chair once more, the smile returning to his face.

Zhongli wonders how Childe’s hands would feel—without the double layers of leather. Are they warm? Are his fingers calloused? Does he bear archer’s scars? Are there freckles scattered across his skin? Childe seems to have similar thoughts; all his focus is on appearing casual, even nonchalant, though his coy smile and flirtatious gaze suggest otherwise. Zhongli sometimes wonders if Childe does it on purpose—or if is it honest?

Childe is… ah, quite an interesting person.

“Childe,” Zhongli repeats. “I do not wish for a big celebration. Frankly, dinner and tea with you is more than enough for me.”

“But…”

Childe stops himself, as if every protest that comes to mind isn’t good enough to say aloud. What’s absolutely adorable is how he looks at Zhongli, as though expecting him to finish the sentence, to offer an excuse in his place.

Childe is a living, breathing dichotomy, and Zhongli relishes the joy of witnessing it.

“But why not?” Childe asks after the second pause, frowning.

Oh, yes. Childe doesn’t ask why, Childe asks why not. Not many things seem to stop him from reaching his goal, so straightforward, so determined.

“Why not,” Zhongli repeats while Childe nods, his head tilted slightly, the genuine question in his eyes. “Ah. I relish the calm atmosphere as often it brings much more satisfaction than people’s attention.”

“Oh, come on, xiansheng! You love people’s attention! Your eyes shine differently when people listen to you and—hah, not that I look—I noticed this by accident and—” Childe brushes hair from his forehead, laughing awkwardly yet again.

Zhongli responds with a gentle smile, hiding it quickly behind the cup of tea. The blend is an intriguing combination of classical Chenyu Vale leaves and fresh violetgrass.

“It seems you are truly determined to celebrate my birthday.”

Childe grins, the confidence back as if nothing happened. “You bet. Is it that weird? To care for people on their special day? I’m always back home when my siblings have a birthday so I can spoil them and—”

“But I am not your sibling, Childe,” Zhongli notices the amusing fact, interested in Childe’s reaction. Another moment of embarrassment? Or determination to prove his point?

Childe chuckles. “Of course you’re not. But you won’t say I’m not spoiling you.” His smile is full of energy, of almost boyish charm, but also challenge.

Childe is spoiling him—Zhongli can’t deny it. The dinners, the gifts whenever Zhongli finds something intriguing in a store but doesn’t have Mora on hand… Yes, Childe is undeniably spoiling him. Part of it is merely a consequence of Zhongli’s sometimes awkward adjustment to mortal life, but the other part? Despite the faint embarrassment now creeping onto Zhongli’s usually composed face, he knows the other part is a result of Childe’s own desires.

Yes, the young Harbinger seems determined to use his vast wealth and privileges to bring Zhongli joy—and Zhongli is immensely pleased. How could he not be?

“Would it please you to celebrate my birthday?” Zhongli inquires, shifting the focus to Childe. How could he refuse him anything?

And Childe smiles—he bursts into laughter, throwing his head back as his copper hair catches the fading sunlight. He brushes the hair from his forehead, tilts his head skyward, carefree and utterly vibrant. Fascinating. A fascinating man. Zhongli realises, almost belatedly, that he has leaned in closer, drawn instinctively to the warmth and joy radiating from this man.

“I would love to,” Childe admits, his voice settling, though traces of his laughter linger. It blends beautifully with the rhythm of Liyue’s bustling streets.

“Nothing too extreme.”

Childe has a gleam in his eyes that can’t mean anything good. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m not an extreme person.”

What a liar. But an utterly charming one.

“It’s exquisite,” Zhongli murmurs, admiring the clearwater jade Childe has just gifted him—an early present, you could say, xiansheng. The quality surpasses anything Zhongli has seen in Liyue Harbour recently. Its colour is crystal-clear yet vibrantly intense, pulsating with a latent energy and ancient memories Zhongli dares not disturb.

His fingers trace the natural lines of the uncut stone, and without realising it, he hums softly in approval. The evening sunlight reflects off the jade and Childe’s hair alike. Zhongli treasures every warm hue in that copper cascade: the deep oranges, the rich reds, the sun-faded strands. Meanwhile, his fingers absent-mindedly fidget with the jade, though his eyes remain fixed on Childe.

Childe notices the scrutiny at last, his eyebrows lifting slightly before a faint frown settles on his face. Was Zhongli… overstepping?

“Xiansheng?” Childe teases gently, his voice a playful nudge, designed not just to break Zhongli’s trance but to ease the moment.

Tartaglia, Eleventh of the Fatui Harbingers, holds more empathy than one might expect—more than Zhongli himself, the near-retired god. It’s a revelation that continues to surprise him, especially when Childe seems to grasp Zhongli’s emotions with such clarity. His cheeks suddenly become warm, his lips dry.

“I can’t recall seeing a piece of such remarkable quality in the harbour markets for quite some time,” Zhongli says, his words praising Childe’s effort while steering the focus toward a topic he finds more comfortable.

“‘Cause I haven’t bought it. Don’t you remember when you told me where to find the best jades?” Childe gleams; it’s not a simple twinkle in the eyes or a flash of white teeth. It’s deeper, it’s overwhelming, it’s stunning.

Childe clearly finds it amusing, but he’s proud of himself—Zhongli has a hunch that Childe’s cheeks might be as flushed as Zhongli’s own.

Ah, indeed. It was a few weeks ago—Zhongli had been indulging in a guessing game, determined to identify the best piece of clearwater jade in his stock (despite being banned from the competitions for cor lapis and noctilucous jade). Not the worst, but not the best. The best quality is a rarity these days, as the finest jades now grow only on the shells of the massive turtles native to the western waters of Chenyu Vale.

“You found the—”

“The turtle, yeah. A cool guy!”

“Did you—”

“What?” Childe stares at Zhongli, his expression shifting from confusion to outrage. “Xiansheng! I didn’t have to fight it. It was actually a very peaceful creature. Of course, if it had attacked me…” Childe grins mischievously. “But nothing like that happened. I’m quite persuasive, you know, xiansheng.”

“That you are,” Zhongli agrees with a measured nod, his gaze soft as it returns to the pristine clearwater jade cradled in his hands.

Knock, knock.

The sound of knocking lifts Zhongli’s gaze from the documents Hu Tao left for him to review. A glance at his pocket watch confirms the hour is still too early for him to leave the parlour—unfortunately.

“Come in,” he calls, smoothing the faint frown from his face to avoid seeming rude. He doesn’t need to force a polite smile, though—a genuine one forms naturally at the sight of a familiar face and the blue eyes gleaming warmly in the lantern light.

“What do I owe the pleasure of your visit so early, Childe?” Zhongli straightens in his chair. “Has something happened? Do you wish to cancel our dinner?”

A date, he almost says, just as he wanted in countless moments before. It wasn’t necessarily significant; Zhongli has lived through millennia and understands that words often mean only their simplest definitions. And yet… he has also learnt that humans tend to imbue single words with layers of meaning.

If he said date, would Childe believe they were romantically involved? Would he step back in the name of propriety? Or—perhaps on the contrary—might he see it as an invitation to something more intentional?

Naturally, Zhongli says none of this, despite the temptation.

Childe’s only reaction, therefore, is that lovely grin of his, followed by his boisterous laughter. It’s Childe who laughs, yet it raises tight in Zhongli’s chest and unravels into a knot deep in his stomach.

“Don’t worry, xiansheng! I know how particular you are about your habits—”

Zhongli feels a faint flush creeping onto his cheeks. “I am not—”

“Hey, it’s not a bad thing!” Childe shakes his head with an easy laugh. “Dinner’s still on. I just got back to the city from a little trip and got… impatient.”

Zhongli hums, setting the documents aside to study Childe instead. For some reason—yet unclear—Childe remains standing in the doorway, one hand hidden behind the door while the other leans casually on the frame, his weight shifted onto it. Is he trying to appear nonchalant? Attractive? Seductive? Zhongli briefly entertains these possibilities before realising the truth: Childe is hiding a bouquet of flowers.

“A little trip?” Zhongli repeats, the brows arching slightly as his gaze fixes on the pristine qingxins.

The petals are snowy white and perfectly full, the purest specimens Zhongli has seen in a long time on the grounds of mortals. Qingxins grow high on the hills around Liyue, and Zhongli has often rambled—perhaps at length—about Liyue’s flora, from his affection for glaze lilies to the varieties of silk flowers. Childe listened eagerly, though this particular knowledge couldn’t give him an advantage in the incoming exchange as it’s nothing but a quirk of Zhongli, hopelessly loving his land.

Glaze lilies are exceedingly rare in the wild, but qingxins…

“Childe,” Zhongli scolds tenderly. “You should know better than to trespass in the domains of the Adepti.”

Childe snickers, his head tilting slightly as he steps into the room.

“Is that so?” he asks, furrowing his brow in mock confusion while the corners of his eyes crinkle with amusement. “Guess you don’t want the flowers, then. Huh, maybe Ekaterina would cut me some slack if I brought her some nice flowers. What do you think?”

The thought of anyone—even Miss Ekaterina—receiving the bouquet stirs something in Zhongli, and he squints faintly, hoping his gaze doesn’t appear draconic in the brief second before he controls his expression.

“I agree—Miss Ekaterina certainly deserves appreciation for her exceptional work at the Northland Bank. However…” Zhongli lets out a low hum, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “I never said I didn’t want the flowers.”

Childe’s face lights up as though he’s just won a million Mora, his grin lazy in a way that might seem alluring—though Zhongli suspects it’s simply the taste of victory so evident in his expression.

“You told me the best qingxins grow on the hills of Jueyun Karst,” Childe reminds him, as if Zhongli were unaware of his own words. Their fingers brush briefly as the bouquet changes hands. “I thought about glaze lilies, but I figured the Yuehai Pavilion wouldn’t be thrilled if I plucked their precious flowers, hmm?”

“Naturally,” Zhongli agrees, amusement softening his features as he pictures the Millelith chasing a Fatui Harbinger caught stealing flowers. “Thank you for this thoughtful gift. Nonetheless, I must insist that you refrain from crossing sacred grounds in Liyue just to bring me a gift.”

Childe chuckles, leaning against Zhongli’s desk. His gaze flits between Zhongli and the bouquet. “Don’t worry, xiansheng. I’m pretty sure I can handle myself.”

A vivid image of Cloud Retainer attempting to peck Childe flashes through Zhongli’s mind. “All the more reason to ask you to promise me you won’t do it again.”

“A promise, huh?” Childe muses, his grin widening. “Fine. For the sake of your precious Adepti.”

Zhongli sighs softly, turning in his chair to face Childe, who is now so close he nearly stands between Zhongli’s knees. “Thank you. I do not intend to seem ungrateful, Childe. The gesture is appreciated, but your actions consistently concern me.”

“Ah, he says he doesn’t want to seem ungrateful, then proceeds to scold me ruthlessly,” Childe mutters, his voice low and teasing. He tries to keep his lips pressed in a straight line, but they betray him, eager to curl into a grin. “It’s a birthday treatment—don’t get used to it.”

How could Zhongli not get used to Childe’s shameless spoiling at every opportunity? He may not readily admit it, but it’s far too easy to grow accustomed to such treatment. Revered for centuries as an Archon, and now as a man, he finds the warmth oddly comforting. A faint heat rises to his cheeks, prompting a low laugh as he shakes his head at Childe’s antics.

A reckless, impossible man. Zhongli has little doubt Childe was hoping for an excuse to spar with an adeptus all along.

When Childe wants to achieve something, there is nothing that could stop him from it—a thought both concerning and comforting, considering Rex Lapis’ contract with the Tsaritsa and the future they prepared for Liyue. And Childe… ah, Childe likes Liyue—its cuisine, customs, traditions, and people. He enjoys it open-mindedly, no matter his troubles with handling chopsticks, small imperfections in his pronunciation, or his stubbornness to add preserves to his tea.

The only Snezhnayan in the room bursts into laughter, waving his hand as he has a habit of doing invested into conversation. Now, he listens to Iron Tongue Tian—who, after an intense argument with Liu Su just moments ago, is likely spilling the beans to Childe’s ever-welcoming ears. Despite the main topic of the gathering being the exhibition and tea, Childe’s cheeks are flushed from baijiu, his jacket discarded somewhere, and his sleeves rolled up. He looks absolutely delightful, almost as if it were his birthday, not Zhongli’s.

“Ah, yes. This particular exhibit dates to around six hundred years ago,” Zhongli continues his own conversation, as if he isn’t entranced by Childe’s presence and his light-hearted laughter. 624 years ago, to be exact, Zhongli thinks. “Excuse me,” he smiles politely when Childe catches his glance out of the corner of his eye.

They meet in the middle.

“Xiansheng! I hope you’re glad you agreed to this little celebration after all,” Childe says, as if they haven’t seen each other throughout the entire evening. The guest list was prepared earlier by Zhongli, including his acquaintances and friends who could enjoy the evening—as well as his boss, surprisingly refraining from using the opportunity to promote her business. Zhongli smiles subtly. Perhaps human life will be much smoother than he sometimes thought.

“Yes, Childe,” Zhongli admits after a short moment of feasting his eyes on everything: the beautiful venue, fascinating people, and lively conversations. Of course, a similar event could have happened without his contribution, as most of the people were acquaintances of sorts, but—

“You’re overthinking it.” Childe furrows his brow. He reaches out but hesitates before grabbing Zhongli’s arm, his fingers only brushing it. “A little walk, xiansheng? Never thought you’d get tired of people, but there has to be a first time for everything, hm?”

“I suppose,” Zhongli replies with hesitation, a single wrinkle appearing between his brows. Is it the case? Has he got so used to people that being tired of them actually… surprises him? “Thank you. I think a walk is a good idea.”

Childe smiles sweetly. “Of course it is.” Then he nudges Zhongli playfully, murmuring about needing to find his jacket before leaving Zhongli at the door.

They don’t talk. The winter wind is fresh and pleasantly cold, enough to make the tired, humid air feel lighter. The harbour is bustling as usual, brimming with reds and golds, loud with laughter and conversations from the restaurants and shops. Zhongli admires everything. A little boy playing with his wooden sword (a poor technique but joyful, warming enthusiasm and a grin), a couple bargaining for the best price on an exquisite teapot, a shop owner changing decorations for a more celebratory look.

The city doesn’t need him—not as Rex Lapis, no. He likes the idea of being useful as Zhongli, the consultant of Wangsheng Funeral Parlour, a selfless part of his selfish wish.

“I wonder, Childe,” Zhongli begins in his conversational tone, his hands clasped behind his back, his posture stern, in contrast to Childe’s relaxed body next to his. “What are your plans for the new year? Will you stay in Liyue longer?”

“Ah,” Childe replies, seemingly embarrassed, ruffling his hair in a doomed attempt to hide it. “Until the Rite of Descension, that’s for sure. After that… well, it depends. If we manage to speak to Rex Lapis and the Tsaritsa is pleased, they’ll give me another job.” He winks, but even the gesture feels slightly forced.

Zhongli knows why, yet he has to admire Childe’s way of speaking truths while disclosing nothing. So cheerful, at times cocky. The knowledge Zhongli has—the knowledge Childe wouldn’t suspect him of having—allows him to see more. To know more. Is it fair? Is it honest?

It’s not the first time he feels odd, out of place; a gentle smile curves Childe’s lips, his gaze full of interest and sympathy. But how much of that interest and sympathy would Zhongli receive in return if Childe knew? How many smiles would be sent in his direction? How often would Childe’s gaze linger on him, his body leaning closer, brushing against his, his laugh infectious, his words intriguing, his respect deeply appreciated…

“I have a gift for you, xiansheng,” Childe says, not for the first time in recent days. The steam from his lips is noticeably warmer than the winter air. Zhongli doesn’t notice the proximity until Childe’s breath brushes his own lips.

“Childe, you seem to take your words about spoiling me very seriously,” Zhongli scolds lightly, shaking his head.

An inch or two closer, and their noses might brush. The jade and flowers were merely introductions to the metaphorical (barely) mountain of gifts Childe presented earlier today.

“Again with being ungrateful,” Childe teases, leaning against the railing. Even in this season, the lotuses bloom in Liyue’s clear waters, set into motion by a group of golden bass.

“You do enjoy… gifting me,” Zhongli notes.

“I do,” Childe admits, his eyes cracking with humour. “It’s a jest, don’t worry. Not many people appreciate simple gestures as much as impossible riches—which, let me point out, doesn’t mean you don’t enjoy the impossible riches.” Childe laughs.

“I must admit, I’m unsure whether you mock me or simply state the truth,” Zhongli replies carefully, his gaze scrutinising Childe’s expression. “I would cherish anything you could give me—as long as it’s from you, I’d be certain it holds value.”

Childe stares at him, blinking briefly before laughing again. “You’re something else, huh, xiansheng? No—no, don’t answer. Let me figure it out this time.” He places a gloved finger on Zhongli’s lips, barely brushing them, then begins rummaging through pockets of his jacket.

Zhongli silently agrees. He says nothing. Technically, he is something else, but to decide if Childe sees it—or simply acknowledges his quirks as someone still learning how to be human… No, Childe is right; he shouldn’t ponder. He shouldn’t ask.

It is good as it is.

“I wanted to give you something from Snezhnaya, but Ivanovich only had firewater, and we already know you’re not the biggest fan…”

“My apologies.”

Childe chuckles, the sound slightly strained. “I never told you before, but I was raised in a seaside village, so I thought… it could be…”

The smug attitude quickly disappears—Childe’s face is a kaleidoscope of emotions, painted on the most beautiful of canvases—as he produces a starconch from his pocket. Like the jade and qingxins, it’s clear the young, passionate man spent a dire amount of time searching for one that satisfied both his standards—and Zhongli’s.

But oh, Rex Lapis may have standards much higher than Childe could imagine. Yet Rex Lapis will be gone soon, while Zhongli remains.

And Zhongli has a different view of perfection.

“You’re quiet, xiansheng. Still need rest? Shit, I should’ve been quiet, shouldn’t I? I said you needed a break, then started yapping—” Childe laughs hoarsely, scratching his nape, his gaze darting away from the starconch in Zhongli’s gloved hand.

Zhongli closes his fingers around it.

“I was trying to find the proper words of gratitude, my dear friend.”

It’s enough to make Childe grin and laugh with relief.

“We can still be quiet for a moment, you know.”

“Yes. I’d appreciate that,” Zhongli replies, unsure if Childe truly desires silence.

Yet, he holds the starconch in his open palm, tracing its every line with his finger, appreciating its simplicity and uniqueness.

Zhongli more feels than sees Childe’s restlessness—the shifting of his weight, the clenching and relaxing of his hands on the railing. A particular thought bounces between others in his restless mind.

“Can I kiss you?”

And there it is—the particular, restless thought.

Childe’s question isn’t entirely unexpected in general, but in this moment—amidst silence, wind, and water—it is.

“Not yet,” Zhongli answers before Childe combusts from embarrassment.

Not yet, Zhongli thinks. Because all of this could be… simply cruel, he suspects. Unfair. But how can he explain it without hurting Childe’s feelings while leaving the door open?

Celestia, Zhongli wants that chance more than anything—as much as his sweet retirement. But now it’s the same, but now Childe feels inseparable from it.

“Not yet?” Childe repeats, confused and perhaps a little offended. He rubs his thighs, searching for pockets he doesn’t have to hide his hands.

Zhongli clears his throat, turning to face Childe and his confused, beautiful expression. “Would you indulge me and wait until the Rite of Descension?” Zhongli asks, hope clear in his voice.

Childe looks puzzled, but something shifts in his face. It lights up, then falters, then brightens again. “Ah. I get it. That’s fine, xiansheng. You’re—you’re right. So, after the Rite of Descension? After I know if I can stay and for how long?”

Zhongli blinks once, twice. Oh, Childe. His brilliant, tender Childe, finding the answer in himself. “Yes. After we set things straight, when everything is clear.”

They both exhale with ease.

“A promise?” Childe grins, tilting his head, his eyes squinting with joy and hesitant hope.

Zhongli nods. “A promise.”

A gift, he thinks.