When Zhongli ordered sixty reels of thirty momme silk, he nearly had a stroke. Not only was that terrifying in its own right, but he also had the world's worst timing. Chongyun hadn't even been out the door yet, his body was running on no sleep and a single popsicle, and then he had to do damage control for Hongxing.

He fainted, on Mister Zhongli, the consultant for the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor. More importantly, he fainted, on Mister Zhongli, the consultant for the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor. This was the man his father insisted was "the best businessman in Liyue, far better than Ninguang in every respect."

While Xingqiu was fairly certain that claim had more to do with his blatant misogyny than anything else, he wasn't about to fuck up their business relations.

He sighed.

Did he fuck up? Zhongli insisted that he drop his honorific. He had no idea if that was good or bad.

Usually it was a good sign sure, but what if it had something to do with their failed transaction? He didn't know enough about the man to know if he really spoke his mind or if he let his anger stew in silence. His face was already hard enough to read, and his words were even more difficult to parse.

What if he actually meant the opposite, and this was some jargon he wasn't familiar with? Archons, he was going to die tonight wasn't he? When his father found out...

He didn't even want to think about that. At least right now his father was out of the house doing whatever with whomever.

The business day was over, Hongxing hadn't found his hiding spot, and he was well rested. Now he could at least take a bath, so his corpse would be clean when it was delivered to the funeral parlor in the morning. Ugh. He sank deeper into the water, right up to his nose, and he shut his eyes. He was a mess.

He had no idea when to expect his father's inevitable verdict, and the anticipation pinched his chest. The worst part was he couldn't do anything about it. He couldn't exactly unfaint, and he definitely couldn't produce sixty reels of their highest quality product from thin air. There wasn't anything he could do.

He smiled deviously beneath the water. There wasn't anything he could do. He was already being punished, why not make it worth his while? Losing the funeral parlor's business meant he could kiss his anticipated time with Lumine goodbye; this was his last chance to leave the house, probably for a long while. If his father wasn't home by midnight, which the time was long past that, he usually didn't return until the next day.

Suddenly, he quickened the pace of his scrubbing. He didn't need to rush, but still, time was wasting. Here he was, the first time rested in ages, and now he had a night of freedom before the iron gavel struck. He had heard of Mondstadt's Dark Night Hero, a mysterious man who cleared hilichurl camps and monster hordes under the gleam of the midnight sun.

He didn't really care if the story was overly romanticized, or even if it wasn't true. Right now, he had an opportunity to release some steam while simultaneously making life easier for the Millelith. Drying the water from himself, he padded back into his bedroom, preparing for his little moment of solitude.

Honestly, he didn't feel like wearing his tried-and-true Feiyun uniform, though he didn't really own much else. Most of his wardrobe contained varying patterns of blue and gold and gold and blue, so he could only afford a touch of rebellion, but at the very least it was something. He decided to go without the jacket he usually wore and pulled out the dress shirt that he reserved for special occasions.

Usually for hot days, this shirt looked almost identical to his jacket's sewn in undershirt, with the key difference that it was designed to be a standalone piece. People actually looked at this one, and he liked how the sleeves billowed even more in the breeze. Tucking the shirt into his regular shorts, he allowed himself a final glimpse in the mirror. His vision was even more apparent now that it didn't blend with his coat.

He smiled as he thought to include one last finishing touch; digging in his jewelry box, he quickly found the tassel that Chongyun gave him when they were younger. He ordinarily wasn't allowed to wear it, because pastel blue didn't blend with the Feiyun aesthetic. Nonsense if you asked him, but now he didn't need to follow that rule. With his vision securely fastened he finally felt like himself again, so he leapt through the window without a second thought.

The evening air was cool, but not so cool that he couldn't warm up without a sword. He nearly laughed aloud. From the gloom of his work table, he hadn't noticed the nagging itch to run, to parry his blade, to glide, to climb, to touch the grass. So distracted was he, that he almost missed the familiar clicking of Zhongli's shoes against the cobblestones.

The benefit of having strict parents meant that he could recognize a person's footsteps by sound. This was hardly useful outside the context of his house, which contributed to his shock. He knew the steps were Zhongli's, because only he walked with a rhythm so consistent and a tone so opulent. Knowing this he halted suddenly, nearly tripping on his own face, right there in the alley behind his house.

Clearly, he needed to practice his Guhua again. He was fortunate that his subject was greatly distracted, else he would have stuck out like a pyro slime on Dragonspine. The streets were completely empty thanks to the late hour, the houses had long since rested their lanterns, and the only sound bubbled forth from the nearby fountain. Before Zhongli could get too far ahead, Xingqiu made a break for the bulletin board beside the public alchemy table.

Peering beneath the board, he could just make out a bundle of paper in the other's hands. There was no way he could make out the words, but the oddity didn't escape him. If Xingqiu was crazy for being awake right now, he was even crazier. Who read the newspaper, standing stock still in the middle of the street, at three in the morning? Also, why was he carrying a sword? Didn't he fight with a polearm?

Something was off and it wasn't just his sleep schedule. He squinted in an effort to get a closer look at the paper, and a second-long glimpse revealed a map of some kind. Zhongli returned to that side of the page, glanced between the sword and the paper, pocketed the paper, and then re-inspected the sword.

Something about the blade was familiar, and then it dawned on him that his own sword was a similar model. The navy blue handle was just the right shade, and the steel was shaped in much the same way. The hilt was slightly different. It looked to be more simplistic than his, but apart from that it was clearly a Feiyun blade.

What was he doing with it though? Feiyun hadn't forged swords for years, since they were thrown out of the market by an Inazuman company. They weren't selling their remaining pieces, else he would have known about it. Xingqiu furrowed his brow. Surely he would have remembered if Zhongli purchased anything besides silk, his father would have raved about it.

But whatever he was looking for, Zhongli must have found it, because he dismissed the blade and began to move again. With purpose. His stride was much larger than his, which meant he sprinted to keep up. They immediately turned southward, and they crossed the bridge on the route to Qingxu Pool.

At this moment he was very grateful for Liyue's mountainous terrain, because there were plenty of areas to hide. The difficult part was keeping pace; Lumine had been teaching him the basics of using elemental sight, but he wasn't proficient enough to rely upon it in its entirety. In the darkness, Zhongli's suit blended with the earth. He had forgotten where he wore his vision, and even then it didn't cast a glow.

Then he lost him. His form disappeared behind a nearby cliff and Xingqiu stumbled. He deftly recovered, leaping over roots and fallen branches, and it wasn't until he caught the scent of smoke on the breeze that he slowed. Voices tickled his ears and they abruptly stopped, no doubt a result of Zhongli's interruption. His voice, harsher than he ever could have anticipated, bounced back at him from the cliffside. What once was a gentle tenor rumbled with restrained anger.

"Care to explain yourselves? I'll give you about fifteen seconds before I introduce you to the business end of my spear." A brief moment of silence followed as the group determined a speaker. Xingqiu's chest froze.

"I heard you were poking your nose where you shouldn't have. You have no business here. Leave, before you're forced to put your money where your mouth is." Zhongli chuckled,

"I believe I'll do so with pleasure. Tell me, what do you stand to gain from this? You own the market, or was that not enough?"

"I don't owe you anything."

"Was it the threat from Tartaglia? His pockets are deep. I speak from experience." Flames of defiance in his eyes, Xingqiu's brother stared through Zhongli and his accompanying smile. He seemed taller than he remembered, the sigil on his vest out of place, the rage just as he remembered. Silence. "Five. Four. Three. Two-"

"STOP!" Xingqiu burst through the clearing, his legs moving before his mind directed. The point of Zhongli's spear halted a hair's width from his temple. His face lit with surprise, while his brother's fell, irritated.

"Young Master Xingqiu I didn't realize-"

"Get out of the way. This isn't your fight."

"Actually," he whirled to face him, "it kind of is." He felt incredibly small between them, especially in the absence of his sword, but it didn't need to come to that. "It was the moment you dropped your stack on my desk without explanation, even more so when you went to father to call seniority. This is bullshit and you know it. I'm not some play thing of yours that you can just, just...manipulate to your will!"

The Fatui agents surrounding them ooed and ahed, as if this were some funny spectacle, "Looks like someone's got their panties in a bunch."

"You don't know the half of it. You think you can just parade around the country with your stupid little cryo twink, while I carry the ledgers. Did you ever stop to think, Xingqiu, that this might be the first time you've actually done my typical work load? Or does being a vision holder make you impervious to actual hard work?" For a moment he was stunned,

"That's not what this is about, and I told you. Not. To talk. About. Him." He flinched as a gloved hand landed on his shoulder, and he shrugged it off, regret tingling down his spine. "Just because you handle the paperwork doesn't mean I haven't been subjected to hours of conferences, and promotional events, and whatever else father demands. What the hell happened to you? I looked up to you!"

"It turns out that life isn't like the little stories in your fantasy novels," he had the gall to crouch in front of him, speaking as if he were five, "how disappointing. I made the sacrifices you refused to, and now? I don't need Celestia making me out to be the second son." What he assumed was a sigil suddenly sparked, igniting like a secret flame, dying his eyes a crimson red that bled into his smile. "Now move, before I make you."

He wasn't given a choice. Flames immediately flew from his finger tips while he was frozen. Useless. He braced himself, before an amber screen extended, rising from the earth with a sickening, bone crunching smack. The field exploded into chaos around him, the only tool the sword at his disposal, the only solace the smashed mantle at his feet.