There's a certain Qixing secretary that Xiangling knows isn't taking it easy. No doubt shuffling through papers and filling out reports, or filing taxes on behalf of their good citizens, ensuring everything's in order.

Xiangling has come to expect this once or twice a week. Sometimes more. Ganyu is fantastic at taking care of others but so rarely takes care of herself. It's up to Xiangling to pick up the slack.

She lights up the stove with a quick snap of Pyro and sets a wok overtop. Washes and rinses the rice, twice and then thrice before the steamer is set to boil away. Carrots, berries, and lotus pods alike, all cut and chopped to pristine perfection.

A simple dish, thinks Xiangling as ingredients fall into her pot. Oil sizzles and snaps as she throws the wok about. Food is tossed and turned to crisp up perfectly.

The rice is carefully formed—an extra portion because Ganyu deserves everything in the world— then it's packed up tight and thrown over her shoulder as Xiangling goes to deliver it personally. She's always been hands-on with her goods. Xiangling cooks to please others and to shower a dreary day with the spice of something better.

So, when Xiangling steps into the Pavilion, it's with a wide smile on her face. She drops off a platter of fresh cookies for everyone else before whisking right past reception with a happy wave of her hand.

"Ganyu!" says Xiangling once she's in sight, dropping into the chair in front of Ganyu's desk and dramatically draping herself across it.

Ganyu doesn't look up from her work, writing something out with sweeping strokes of her quill. Xiangling waits, her toe tapping with energy, her fingers drumming along the skin of her knee.

Then she can't wait anymore. "Ganyu," says Xiangling, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "I have it on good authority that this Universal Peace is only as good as it is when still warm."

Ganyu's quill pauses. She sighs softly, but it isn't without fondness. She sets her pen down, shuffles her paperwork, and then looks at Xiangling.

"Right on time," says Ganyu with a serene smile. "Just like always. What would I do without you?"

"Starve, I'd think."

Xiangling smiles wide as she sets about arranging the spread.

#

There's an author in her restaurant furiously scribbling away at a manuscript with long, aggravated strokes as he scratches whatever he just wrote right out.

Xiangling watches Xingqiu from around the corner, her chin tucked into her hand while she's deep in thought. The lines between his brow are heavy-set and creased. He's too young to be frowning like that, his mouth pulled downwards so tersely.

But, even when older doesn't always mean smarter, and Xiangling's already cooking up her next masterful plan. Xingqiu can agonize over his book for decades if he wants. It won't stop Xiangling from doing her absolute worst.

Which is actually her best.

Xiangling doesn't cook without every fiber of her being, never gives less than everything that's in her heart. That's the thing about cooking—it's how she connects with people; even ornery authors who are so busy struggling with words that they don't eat properly.

She gathers her trove of ingredients—rice, shrimp, and carrots too. Chops and cuts and grinds and mixes. Sets the filling into a pan to slowly cook away. Flour and water work together like magic in her hands as she kneads together a simple dough. Pounded flat, the dough sits round in her palm as she adds the filling and crimps each dumpling by hand.

There's an art to steaming, a trickier method when it comes to cooking. Xiangling steams not with water, but with a mixture that's more fish stock than not, and just by the smell of it, tangy and pungent in the air, she knows that she's nailed it.

She drops the plate in front Xingqiu without asking, right on top of his manuscript where it clatters against the table.

Xingqiu looks at her with a pinched expression and opens his mouth, but before he can speak, Xiangling slaps a pair of chopsticks down as well. "Eat," she says.

"Xiangling—"

"Eat," she repeats.

"I—"

"I said, eat." Xiangling rarely looks so disapproving but it's a demand this time around, Archons above.

Xingqiu knows when an argument's lost. He tucks into the Crystal Shrimp without further ado, eating it up in a precise, well-mannered demeanor.

She doesn't miss it though, the quirk of his lips as he dabs at his mouth with a napkin. Xiangling's done it again—mellowed out the boy with nothing but good food.

#

There's an old man walking the stretch of the Harbor dock.

At least, Xiangling assumes that Mr. Zhongli is older than he cares to admit, evident in the way that he seems to carry the weight of Liyue on his shoulders.

He's quiet tonight. Contemplative. Not so different from his usual demeanor but Xiangling finds him to be rather subdued. Nothing a good home-cooked meal can't fix.

Ripe bamboo shoots and nicely cured ham marinated in a Jueyun Chili glaze. Only the freshest cut of boar meat, thinly sliced for a quick cook, which she pairs with savory broth salted with coastal sea salt—Zhongli's spin on her very own dish.

It's the least I can do, she thinks as she packs everything up in a ceramic pitcher.

It's easy to find him. Zhongli never seems to stray far, taking comfort in the familiar scenery of the Harbor as he sorts through whatever thoughts tire him so.

Xiangling calls out to him and they sit on the dock, feet hanging over the edge, their shoes just skimming the water. She sets out to fill their bowls and Zhongli takes his with a simple bow of his head.

"A nice surprise," he says as he swirls his chopsticks through the broth. "Bamboo Shoot Soup."

"You looked a little lost today," says Xiangling, popping a bite into her mouth. The savory ham melts on her tongue and she sighs happily at the sensation. "I thought perhaps your favorite might cheer you up."

Zhongli chuckles as he tucks in. "One wonders what makes humans tick, so many are contradictory in their motives. But with you, I can always expect only the finest of cuisine."

Xiangling listens as he rambles on and on. Zhongli is well-versed in everything but rarely makes sense of it, always prattling on about the intricacies of people and the wonders of what they can do.

"Well, it doesn't matter," says Xiangling around her chopsticks, never having been one for proper manners. "I think there isn't anything more human than enjoying a good meal."

The look that Zhongli gives her is strange and mildly amused, but he smiles just barely before looking out over the water. "Perhaps you're right, Miss Xiangling," he says softly. "That must be why I crave it so much."

Xiangling snorts, then kicks his ankle with her foot. Zhongli chuckles before digging into his food once more.

#

There's a Harbinger in town masquerading as a Snezhnayan diplomat.

In the aftermath of the Jade Chamber falling into the ocean, Xiangling's surprised that he hasn't gone home, that he's stayed behind here instead. Childe is a nice enough man, genial when he needs to be even though she knows that something darker lurks underneath his skin.

She's surprised that the Qixing hasn't yet ousted him; Ningguang's done worse on far less whim.

Still, he's changed a little over the last few months. Xiangling often finds him sitting on outcroppings of rocks, watching as the ships roll into the Harbor. He sighs, a longing look on his face when they roll away again.

It must be hard, she thinks, being caught between two worlds. She isn't a fool to think that he hasn't found some sort of peace here. She's seen how he is with The Traveler and Zhongli. With the locals and how he indulges in their whims.

Even with her and how he eats at her restaurant just about every single day.

But, he must miss home and the cold snow of Snezhnaya. Childe watches as the ships leave and likely wonders when it'll be time for him. And then, he'll wonder if it'd be worth leaving at all.

Xiangling understands more than he might know. She loves to travel and expand her culinary prowess, but even as she roams there's always a soft spot for where she's grown up. Memories of Liyue are what keep her warm, along with her cookfire, at night.

So, she sets about researching. Buys book after book and reads recipe after recipe. She even consults Ekaterina, Childe's incredibly patient secretary. She'd been the one to seal the deal and give Xiangling what exactly she needs to know.

First, a leavened dough is carefully prepared and left to rise. Xiangling adds just a dash of butter for the flakiest bite around. Then, the filling, made of ground meat and rice. She combines pork and chicken, and is generous with her herbs. It's a flash-fry, really, the hand pies only need about three minutes until they're golden brown. They take longer to drain but retain that crisp outer shell. Xiangling's mouth waters as she watches them, wanting to sink her teeth in for a full bite—

But she's patient as she wraps them up carefully in a cloth and presses them into a basket.

Childe's more difficult to find that day. Xiangling's told that he's atop Mt. Tianheng, training. He isn't when she comes across him, instead, he's watching the ocean from his incredibly high perch.

Xiangling drops beside him without a word. Childe is never really surprised to see her, so he smiles when he looks, but it barely reaches his eyes and seems more tired than anything.

Work must be taking a toll.

"If it isn't my favorite chef," he says cheekily. "What—What's this?"

Xiangling's shoved her carefully crafted food into his hand before pulling out another for herself. Childe looks at it, something indescribable finding his face.

"Piroshki," he says quietly.

"Mhm!" Xiangling takes a hard-earned bite and practically moans at the way it settles in her mouth. The spices? Superb. The dough? Flaky and moist. It's a perfect marriage in her mouth and Xiangling reminds herself to ask Ekaterina for more recipes.

Childe takes a bite. Laughs like he can't quite believe it. "Perfect, as always. Tastes just like home."

"Thank Ekatarina—she gave me the recipe. For once, I didn't change it. Thought it'd be fine just as it is." Then she looks at Childe, grinning around the last bite of her pie. "Besides, if I changed it, it'd defeat the purpose."

He sighs softly. "I've always wondered—Why do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Help others out. You're always just—I mean, you notice." A pause. "When things aren't great, then you go out of your way to make them better."

Xiangling's smile softens and she reaches out to press a hand to his shoulder. "I know you miss home," she starts, "but for me, home is where my cooking is. Home is found and felt when I watch others enjoy my food. There's nothing more that connects me to everything."

She gestures to the piroshki in his hand. "So, enjoy it. That's what it's meant for. And turn that frown upside down or I just might sic Guoba on you!"

Childe then laughs, genuinely, and from the belly. "Alright, alright," he says, taking another bite. But then he leans over and nudges their shoulders together, friendly. "Thanks. Really, I meant it. This has made my month."

Xiangling smiles because really, that's what it's all about.