This is the piece that I wrote for Conviction: A Diluc Zine. Please do not share this around. No Content Warnings! Word Count: 2387
Diluc wonders what exactly he did to piss Celestia off, because there isn't a doubt in his mind that this entire trip has been nothing but divine punishment.
The initial presentation was simple: Xiangling sent him a letter, kindly requesting a professional collaboration between Wanmin Restaurant and the Dawn Winery.
We'd make a good team, I think. Cultivate a good alliance. Me with my wok, and you with your wines, she'd written. And on paper, the idea was rather brilliant. Xiangling is second-to-none when it comes to cooking delicious things, and Diluc has his own reputation to be proud of. Should've been a match made in Heaven.
It's been Hell from the get-go.
Diluc is apprehensive about everything, particularly this. And as honed as Xiangling is in her craft, she's barely a teenager and it shows. A little too excitable, prone to getting distracted and running off—and mostly, a bit of a disaster at every moment of the day.
Initially, he said no, politely declining, citing that he was busy. But mid-way through his carefully penned response, Kaeya made the ever so not-useful point that Diluc actually owed Xiangling a favor.
Don't you remember? She saved your ass once. She's probably calling that favor in because surely there are wine people within Liyue.
Diluc begrudgingly agreed and penned an acceptance instead, sealing his fate.
And what a fate it's been. From the moment they shoved off with their group, it's been nothing but catastrophic. Diluc doesn't handle catastrophe well; he likes his days carefully planned, everything landing within clearly defined lines.
On the very first day of their grand new project, they're several hours late because Xiangling doesn't know how to pack light. Then they get lost because she's terrible at reading maps—not that Diluc is much better.
Once they find where they're going, it starts to rain—and so on and so forth. One event after another. Nothing they do is right and no amount of planning can fix it. Diluc isn't the kind of man to pray to the Archons, but he has done so every night on the off chance they might take pity.
All he thinks of is the drunken laugh of an annoying bard, because yes, he knows exactly who the man is. Diluc drags a hand down his face, already tired and the day hasn't even begun.
He sits up in his cot and looks at the dim, gray sky, sighing.
"Rain," says Xiangling unhelpfully when he finds her by the morning cookfire.
"I've noticed," says Diluc, mildly annoyed. But, he takes his breakfast without complaint.
"It'll be fine if we stick together. It's only a day of traveling and as long as we're at Springvale by nightfall, we'll be in good shape."
Diluc grunts at that before he tucks in.
#
They do not stick together.
One moment Xiangling is by his side and the next she's gone, leaving behind a very distressed and confused Guoba. Diluc doesn't pretend to understand the creature, but he likes to think that Guoba might be just as tired too, constantly tagging alongside such a willful girl.
Diluc is a premier sommelier, not a babysitter. How exhausting.
He finds her soon enough, on her hands and knees, at the edge of a Hilichurl camp and crawling slowly towards their cookfire. Their foes are asleep for the most part. But they won't be for long. "Xiangling!" he hisses. She looks. Smiles deviously. Completely ignores him. "No," he murmurs, "No—"
She crawls right into their camp, tongue stuck between her lips as she does her best to keep quiet. So far so good.
The thing is, Diluc knows Xiangling. Typically, wherever she goes, chaos follows. And sure enough, the moment she snags the rare ingredient she's after, the rack it sits on collapses to the ground in a loud clatter.
The Hilichurls wake, groggy and confused. She looks at where Diluc is off to the side and cringes sheepishly. "Oops."
Diluc takes a deep breath, runs a hand through his bangs, and summons his sword.
What a way to spend lunch.
#
Several weeks in, Diluc is beyond tired—he's over the entire thing.
They're camped just outside of Qingce Village. Diluc would've preferred a nice room at the Wangshu Inn instead, but Xiangling waved the thought away, citing that she didn't want to be a bother.
And so, they're here instead, under the open stars, literally paces away from an actual roof. Diluc stares at his tent with a frown. At least rain isn't planned.
Xiangling sits by a cookfire, tapping her face in thought. She notices Diluc staring. "Just thinking up new ideas," she chirps happily, a wide smile spread across her face.
Diluc grunts. "We have a menu," he starts, "One that should be carefully followed if you want any of my wine to pair well."
She huffs and rolls her eyes. "Not for the trip, silly. For funsies. Every moment I don't cook is a wasted opportunity!"
"That sounds like the opposite of fun."
"Well, maybe to you—you're such a grump! But when you love your work, then it's never a chore, you know?"
Diluc blinks, unsure how to respond, but he supposes that barely-adults can have occasional wisdom. He watches as Xiangling cuts up some veggies and tosses some ham into the pan.
Next, come spices—each one sniffed and thought about carefully before she dumps it into the wok. Xiangling tosses the pot over the fire and turns everything over with her trusty wooden spatula.
Blessed by the God of Stoves himself, you know, she'd joked the first week of their journey. Diluc definitely doubts it.
As her pot sizzles and crackles, Xiangling surveys it carefully again. "It's missing something," she murmurs, wondering. "Something with… flair."
Diluc cringes and puts space between him and the cookfire. She's said the dreaded words, the ones that always bring ruin. To most, Xiangling is a genius, but spend enough time in her company and you learn—the moment she wants to add flair is the moment you run.
You never know what might happen.
It's a good choice. Xiangling roots through her bag and, with a triumphant cry, pulls out a Frostshield potion. Diluc's eyes narrow as she uncorks it, tipping the liquid right into the pot.
Then, there's a crack through the air as the wok snaps right in two, the mixture of cold and heat just too much for the cast iron to handle. Diluc jumps, alarmed.
"Oh, that's unfortunate," sighs Xiangling, smacking her palm against her forehead.
"That the recipe didn't work out?" he asks.
"No, that's my only wok. I realized the other day that I forgot to pack a spare."
It's so ridiculous that Diluc laughs. It isn't actually funny, of course, and he lets out a pained sound, looking at Xiangling with a vexed twist of his lips.
"Yeah, I guess it's kind of funny," says Xiangling, entirely missing the point.
Funny isn't what Diluc would call it, but it could be worse.
He learns the next day just how hard it is to find a quality wok. Takes nearly a week before Xiangling finds something that satisfies her and forks over a small fortune to procure it.
#
"Diluc, would you light the campfire?"
He most certainly will not, and that's exactly what he tells her.
Xiangling sits opposite him, watching with amusement instead of annoyance. Whittles away at a potato as she skins it with a knife, looking nonchalant. The silence stretches between them, thin and awkward.
"You can light it yourself," he finally says, waving at her, "Just as easily as I can. You have a Pyro Vision. You aren't inept."
"I'm certainly not," she says with a laugh, "But it's more fun to ask you to do it. You get this annoyed grimace on your face and it's very funny, you know."
Diluc's eyes narrow. "It isn't funny." A pause. "I'm not funny." He's a very serious man with a business to run.
Xiangling finally looks away, her brows raised so high they nearly meet her hairline. She dumps the finished potato into a basket and reaches for another. "It must be annoying to constantly act so…" She pauses in her peeling to think. "Distant," she settles on.
"I'm not—"
"You make a point of it." Xiangling rolls her eyes. "Seems silly when you actually care about people."
"I don't— It isn't—" Diluc pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. "Sometimes it's just easier to go about things yourself, even if you care. I don't like it when things are too complicated and limiting exposure to others removes it entirely from the equation."
"Simpler," says Xiangling as she keeps on with her peeling.
"Exactly."
"Is it, though?"
It sounds rhetorical, for the most part. Xiangling doesn't look at him when she speaks, just keeps working her nimble fingers around the peeling knife.
Diluc finds himself thinking about her question, surprised by her soft wisdom. Xiangling is young. She's been a constant thorn in his side this entire trip. She stirs up trouble wherever she steps and she seems to go looking for it.
But Xiangling also goes out of her way to take care of others—whether they want it or not. Diluc has found himself at the end of her forced friendship more often than not, and as their journey stretches on, he finds he doesn't quite hate it.
And, you know, her food really is delicious.
When Diluc looks at her again, she watches him back with a thoughtful expression. Then, Xiangling snaps her fingers, and the cookfire roars to life.
#
Their trip is nearing its end. They've made their way through the vast majority of Liyue—across the northern tip and down its western edge. They're circling back towards the Harbor where they will part in peace and go back to their usual lives.
It's a quiet night, as it often is in Liyue. They camp underneath the open stars, bright and glittering things that dot the night sky. Guoba sits next to him, the both of them tucked against smooth stone as they wait for dinner.
Xiangling hums as she stirs the food around, the oil in her wok hissing and cracking.
It's warm and comforting, despite the long weeks. They'd finally eased into a good routine and Diluc—
Diluc is absolutely abhorred when he realizes that he'll miss it. That it's been a relatively good experience even if he's been babysitting half of the time. Even though he finds Guoba odd, and Xiangling's bright exuberance exhausting, or the long days of demonstrations and tastings tiresome and taxing.
He's still thinking about it a half-hour later when Xiangling drops to the ground next to him, holding out a plate. Diluc takes it gratefully, and the fork and knife that come next.
"Pile 'Em Up," he muses, cutting into the steak. "A little simple for what you usually cook, no?"
Xiangling shrugs, setting her plate into her lap as she prepares to dig in. "It's not always about flair, right? Sometimes cooking is simple—something that just reminds us of home."
"How do you do it?" asks Diluc, finally. "Why do you do it?"
Xiangling blinks at him, her cheek stuffed full of food like a chipmunk. She swallows and then says, "Does there have to be a reason?"
He supposes that there doesn't have to be, he just expected Xiangling to offer up a more… cultivated reason. Diluc turns back to his food, nudging it around with his utensils.
"I just enjoy it," she says a moment later. "Seeing how food brings joy to people. Watching them smile or laugh, as they eat my food. I work hard, you know—we all do, in different ways. But it's worth it in the end when someone truly enjoys it."
Then, she smiles, a secretive thing that spreads wide across her face. "Isn't that why you play the Darknight Hero?"
Diluc blinks. "Uh," he starts, ineloquently, but doesn't bother to finish. He knows the look on her face; Xiangling knows, so there isn't a point in refuting it. Instead, Diluc scratches at his head, embarrassed.
"It isn't so easy," he finally says, "I'm not like you."
Xiangling shrugs. "Whoever said that you have to be? You—" She gestures to him vaguely with her chopsticks, "—do you. Doesn't have to be anything more than that, y'know?"
Diluc huffs softly, a chuckle that feels a little foreign, coming from him. But Xiangling just smiles wide at him, shoveling food into her mouth.
"Oh, by the way," she says, "This is my first time making this. Got the recipe from the Traveler who said it was your favorite. Says that when you make it, it's suspiciously good."
Of course, thinks Diluc ruefully.
"How is it?"
"Tasty," says Diluc truthfully. Then he decides to fight fire with fire. "Could use a little more salt. And the spices are all wrong."
They both know that the dish is absurdly perfect because Xiangling followed the recipe to a tee, forgoing any strange and creative changes. She laughs loudly and brightly, then nudges his shoulder with hers.
Diluc laughs too, this time genuine.
"Say, what do you think about doing this again?" Xiangling looks at him with eyes that are sparkling. "You know, The Dawn Winery Presents—"
"The Dawn Winery won't present anyone or anything," cuts in Diluc, flatly. Xiangling pouts, puffing air from her lips. Diluc rolls his eyes. "But, the Dawn Winery isn't against an actual partnership, one on equal terms. This entire thing has done rather well."
"Despite the ups and downs," says Xiangling, matter-of-factly.
"Yes, despite those."
Xiangling looks away, her cheeks a little pink. "You know, I know that I'm not the easiest to work with, and I know you only agreed out of obligation."
"I did not—"
"But I'm glad that you did because I think you learned something."
Oh, the absurdity of that statement—him, learning something. Diluc is too old to be hearing such nonsense from a teenager, even if she's just imparted some very poignant and relevant wisdom.
Still, the idea isn't the worst one she's had, and he tells her that. "Next year," he says, "Let's pick Winter. Liyue still has mild weather but there's less rain."
Xiangling smiles that mischievous, curving grin that everyone hates that they love.