Chapter Text
As soon as Wriothesley was out of bed, Zhongli hauled him unceremoniously over his shoulder and dragged him not just out the door, but down the mountain before he could get in anything more than a startled grunt of a half-asleep man. Where one moment, his middle had been crushed, the next, his stomach was thrown up into his throat as they plummeted downwards in massive leaps beneath the thinnest sliver of moonlight.
By the time Wriothesley was set down in the garden of Baizhu’s practice, his legs trembled and arms braced forward to swallow down the bile rising at the back of his mouth.
“A little warning would have been nice,” Wriothesley choked out, panting through clenched teeth.
Zhongli spared him a single, solitary glance. In a turn of a snapped coattail and clicked boots, he abandoned Wriothesley in favor of Baizhu’s door.
Taking a deep breath, Wriothesley righted himself.
With the fog of sleep finally clearing, a heavy weight settled deep in his chest. From the outside, Baizhu’s practice looked untouched. The grass leading up the walkway was untrampled, the front door closed and on its hinges. Beyond the windows, a fire still burned in the hearth, slowly fading, it cast the interior into a stark illumination of long shadows and false shapes. For all anyone else could tell, Baizhu was dozing at his desk with Changsheng curled into a neat pile beside him.
Stepping inside offered no further hints.
A few trails of mud vaguely outlined in the prints of boots led from the entryway, but nothing substantial. They could have just as easily been made that morning as that evening. Papers were straight, the hearth was clean, and herbs were fully stocked. To Wriothesley’s eye, the space looked untouched.
“You don’t suspect Doctor Baizhu ran off with Neuvillette, do you?” Wriothesley said as he picked up a calligraphy brush left out on the desk closest to the doorway.
The floor shook. Bottles rattled, and scrolls toppled from their assigned spots.
The glow from Zhongli’s horns darkened. His shoulders tensed. “Do not trifle with such baseless accusations.”
Wriothesley steadied himself against the desk, waiting for the roll of a glass ball across the wood floor to settle before he spoke again. “Just making sure. It doesn’t look like there’s any sign of a struggle.”
“No, it doesn’t. And, we have no time to waste playing detective.”
Zhongli held both hands in front of his chest with the palms facing one another. His fingers curled and between them rapidly formed a crystal of opaque, honeyed amber. His eyes closed. “Azhdaha, ancient charge of the earths, take this vessel, my power, and make present the past that here unfolded. Show me the path of Baizhu and the Herblord.”
In a thundering clap of his hands, the crystal exploded in a rain of stardust.
When Zhongli next opened his eyes, his expression had shifted to be completely blank, almost as if he didn’t see what was before him. Once, then twice, he blinked and his eyes shifted. Where there had once been a bright orange was replaced with a deep brown flecked with shifting shards like fresh coffee grounds still damp from brewing. It was those eyes that took stock of the room. Swiveled from one corner to the next. That lingered on Wriothesley just long enough for him to notice.
Zhongli squared his shoulders and pressed his palms together over his heart. When his fingers pulled slowly apart, a dripping web of a thousand golden threads clung between them, each drop falling to the floor with a plink that reverberated like rainwater in a metal cup.
Tearing the thread apart, Zhongli’s hands thrust out.
Golden light spilled across the floor. Rising from the ground, the light twisted up into figures. First a woman Wriothesley didn’t recognize, then he and Sigewinne. At least, the scene morphed and a ghostly manifestation of Baizhu stood by the fireplace, locked in clearly tense conversation with a man in a beaked mask.
With Dottore.
As quickly as the scene was created, it crumbled away, becoming a trail of swirling light that shot out the doorway into the night.
Zhongli’s throat growled with a rumbling much closer to Neuvillette’s own inhuman sound. “The Herblord and her companion are no longer in Liyue.” His voice reverberated several octaves lower than anything else Wriothesley had heard from him. “Their trail ends at the oceans, and I can follow them no further.”
Once again, Zhongli’s eyes closed. His arms lowered. When he next spoke, his voice had raised to its regular tenor, now starkly quiet in comparison. “This is sufficient. Thank you.”
Eyes once again glowing their amber gold met Wriothesley’s. “Are you familiar with the man Doctor Baizhu encountered?”
Wriothesley glared at the spot by the hearth where Dottore had appeared. As if finally catching up to him, his fists suddenly clenched tight enough to make his knuckles crack. The blood in his veins flared hot and it wasn’t enough to stand still. Instead, he stalked to the spot and scuffed his boot to the floor, all too aware that destroying any property around him would most certainly earn him a proper taste of the earth god’s wrath. “Captain Dottore? We’ve met once or twice.”
A hand curled thoughtfully beneath Zhongli’s chin. “I’ve heard this name before from Doctor Baizhu. I do not suspect he’ll stay long if he’s already taken the Leviathan captive.” His arms crossed. “You have a ship, do you not?”
“Yes, I-“ Wriothesley’s heart clenched as he drew to mind the image of a manifest from the long-since raided Fatui vessel. “Neuvillette; they’re taking him to Inazuma. If we leave now, we might catch them before they make port. Something tells me we’ll have a strong advantage if we catch them out to sea.”
“Then by all means, make haste.”
With Wriothesley in the lead, their steps were retraced back out the door into the chilled night air. The trees that had provided pleasant shade in the day became obstructions, reaching out to grasp at Wriothesley’s clothes and hair with spindly branches and gnarled roots. Though he’d made note of the route they’d taken in the morning, every step he took felt like it was in the wrong direction. With the way the wind blew, he knew he ran towards the sea, but whether or not it was his ship was almost impossible to tell as the moon set lower and lower on the horizon.
Until it became all too clear.
In a gap where the canopy parted, the sky filled with smoke. Heavy, black, and illuminated in part by a bright flame underneath. The chance of a forest fire in a wet month was practically impossible, and while it very well could have been an unfortunate residence, Wriothesley wasn’t the sort of man who placed stock in coincidences.
A fresh surge of speed urged Wriothesley on, flying over rocky ground and barreling through the leaves and branches that worked against him. At his heels, he knew—or at least hoped—Zhongli still followed behind, but if he didn’t, it didn’t matter.
“Captain!”
Wriothesley’s knees jarred as he came to a dead stop from his run. On the path before him, having slowed from a sprint to a jog, was none other than; “Clorinde?”
Clorinde pulled to a stop before him. Her eyes darted over his shoulder, then returned to meet his. “Did someone alert you?”
“I saw the smoke.” A half-lie. “What happened? Is everyone accounted for?”
“I haven’t taken proper count yet, but there are significant casualties,” Clorinde said. “An unmarked ship appeared and attacked our deck with a fire-infused cannonball. I’ve never seen anything like it.” She straightened the sword at her belt. Her thumb traced one of the engravings on the hilt, a carving of a yellow rose. “Sigewinne is tending to survivors now, but the Meropide is beyond salvage.”
And just like that, the Meropide was gone? Sunk the one night her captain was away, ambushed in a foreign land.
“Everyone’s moved inland,” Clorinde continued. “The fire has drawn the attention of the local guards. Their presence has at least kept the Fatui from pursuing us on land.”
Wriothesley tousled the hair at the back of his neck. Cold sweat pulled away on his fingertips. “Maybe our fist stroke of luck all night.”
A sharp clearing of Zhongli’s throat drew both Wriothesley and Clorinde’s attention. At some point in their run, he’d returned to appearing fully human, with simplified robes better fitting a humbly successful minister of affairs than a flashy noble. “So, you no longer possess a vessel capable of sailing?”
“If you were interested in recruitment, you’ve come at a bad time,” Clorinde said, snapping a look up and down Zhongli’s person the same way a stableman appraised new goats.
Zhongli’s arms folded. “I see. In that case, Captain Wriothesley, I would like to hire you alone for services I believe only you can adequately provide.”
Wriothesley exchanged a look with Clorinde. The arc of her brow alone shot him a full panel of questions he had no hope of answering in a single night. “You can’t exactly expect me to abandon my crew now, Mr. Zhongli.”
“If you successfully complete my request, I will purchase a vessel of equal or greater value to the one you lost as a replacement for your crew. I do not wish to discuss the details of the arrangement in company, but I’m confident you already know the majority of what it entails.” Zhongli’s shoulders rolled back. “Make haste with your decision, though. We’ve already wasted enough time as it is.”
“Clorinde-“
Clorinde shook her head. “I leave the decision to you, captain. I trust you’ll explain everything once your assignment is complete.” She quirked her mouth in the smallest hint of a smirk. “And a new ship will surely soften the blow of your absence.”
“Well,” Wriothesley said, “I’ll try not to take too long, then.”
After departing from Clorinde, the night fell into a blur once again. With Zhongli taking the lead, Wriothesley was forced to sprint at his fullest to keep up with the god as he weaved his way effortlessly between trees and around bushes until they reached the quiet nighttime streets of Liyue Harbor.
Even though the exertion made Wriothesley’s lungs burn and his shins spike with each step, it was nice to have something physical to focus his mind to. It wasn’t the right time to trouble himself with the Meropide or the Fatui, or Neuvillette. Focus on the next step. The next breath. Leave the worries for the fictional Wriothesley who spent his life in Fontaine among statesmen and diplomats.
It was that mindset that had served him well before he’d even boarded the Meropide.
He hadn’t had time to think about dangers and what-ifs, to grieve lives lost. What had mattered was stopping his foster parents. Unearthing their schemes and true intentions before the Marechaussee Hunters so they could initiate the reckoning Wriothesley had finished off himself. Even though they fought him and dragged him out to sea, meant to drown him, it was worth it. If he’d hesitated, cowered, how many more lives would have been claimed on his inaction?
As if their bad night were contagious, Zhongli’s first stop in Liyue was rousing an easily startled boatman from her sleep and politely demanding she take he and Wriothesley to the ‘Crux Fleet’ immediately. Apparently being awoken in the middle of the night wasn’t a deterrent, though, as not even fifteen minutes later, they were all boarded into a tiny, almost raft-like boat and sailing out beneath a moonless sky.
From the moment they boarded, Zhongli’s hand gripped to the side the same way most men clung to ropes thrown out to save them. His entire body was stiff, and his breathing was so constrained, it made him look more like clockwork than a man. On closer inspection, Wriothesley noted how his fingertips began to indent the boat beneath them, only for his clenched hands to let up just enough for the strangled wood to breathe.
Docked well outside the harbor, and hidden by a rocky pillar, a massive ship with red sails and a rearing dragon figurehead rose from the water, laying claim to a quiet solitude that hung over the secluded area in a thick blanket.
In the glow of the lanterns on deck, their tiny boat was instantly spotted. Two men rushed back out of sight, while a third lined up the barrel of a musket with the bow of the boat.
The boatman laid her oar over her lap. Calmly, she removed the cover of a small lantern lit by a single crystalfly and held it into the air.
The musket lowered.
At the edge of the ship, two crewmen gathered near the ladder. A rope was thrown down for aid as the boat aligned itself and collided gently against the ship’s side with a muted thunk.
“Please wait for my return,” Zhongli said to the boatman as he pulled himself on unsteady knees to grasp at the ladder built into the side of the ship. “Wriothesley, come with me. I will need your assistance.”
“If you insist,” Wriothesley said.
The journey up the ship was akin to watching a bat hobble across the ground. Though Zhongli was clearly strong, every reach of his hand and placement of his feet seemed unsure, often taking two or more tries to test his grip before committing to making his next action. At the top, he unceremoniously flopped over the railing where one woman quickly saved him a fall to the deck.
A heavy rhythm of unhurried heels across wood announced the arrival of a woman dressed in golden buckles and a long red coat that could only be the ship’s captain. “Well, well, to what do I owe a personal visit from Mister Zhongli himself?”
Some semblance of composure returned as Zhongli straightened himself to stand nearly eye-level with the beast of a woman before him. “Captain Beidou,” he said, “I’m sorry to have disturbed you so late in the night. However, a matter of utmost urgency has arisen, and I am in immediate need of your crew and services.”
A smile broke out across Beidou’s face, shifting the edge of the black patch covering her left eye. “Well, if you’re here to talk Mora…” She gestured for her newest arrivals to follow to the captain’s quarters. “This way. I don’t need a talk further distracting my crew.”
Outside the watch of prying eyes, Beidou poured three glasses of golden brandy into short stoneware cups, taking no care if the liquor splashed from the edges. “Alright, what’s the situation?”
Zhongli took a stiff seat on a thin bench beside a table of charts. A drink was placed before him with no response. “My-“ he glance to Wriothesley. “Doctor Baizhu and an acquaintance of mine from Fontaine have been kidnapped.”
Beidou tossed back her drink in one swing. “sh*t, really?”
“Unfortunately, yes.” Zhongli’s hands clenched at his knees while the cup offered went untouched. “To my knowledge, the responsible party is a band of Fatui who I strongly suspect have taken them both to Inazuma. It has not been long since the incident occurred, and if you set course immediately, it will be possible to catch them while they remain at sea. I trust the skill of you and your crew will grant a significant advantage in that situation.”
A walnut dresser creaked as Beidou leaned the entirety of her weight into it. “You want me to head off tonight?”
“Yes.”
“To intercept a Fatui ship and sink it?”
“Only board it, at first. Once their captives are in your hands, I leave the remainder of their vessel’s fate to you.”
Another glass of brandy was poured. In the time it took Beidou to swirl and swallow her second drink, Wriothesley finally risked a sip of the smoky spirit that had been set beside him. The usually invigorating alcohol crawled down his throat and sat like a lead ball at the base of his stomach.
“What price are we talking?” Beidou asked.
Zhongli’s fingers drummed against his knee. A small crease formed between his brow. “Is four million Mora sufficient to cover your fees?”
Beidou made a loud gasp and a choke as she spit out the air in her lungs. “Four million Mora?”
“If that amount is insufficient, I offer you ten million Mora for the safe return of Doctor Baizhu and Monsieur Neuvillette.”
Apparently, some gods were very wealthy.
Beidou shook her head. “By the gods, Zhongli, ten million is plenty.” She slammed her cup to the dresser. Her fist thumped her chest in a final cough. “And what about this guy?” Beidou said as she tossed her chin in Wriothesley’s direction.
“Ah, I have neglected to introduce Mister Wriothesley.” Zhongli’s hands slid up to grip his thighs. “Monsieur Neuvillette is his partner, and I’ve brought him here because you will find him a valuable boon in locating the Fatui ship. Mister Wriothesley is an experienced sailor, one familiar with the Fatui in question, and, to ensure his success, I’m gifting him my compass of desire.” From within the folds of his robes, he produced a leather strap tied to a small square stone inlayed with a thin needle of Cor Lapis. “It will guide him towards that which he wants most, and therefore, will point you in the direction of the Fatui.”
Beidou sized up Wriothesley, dragging her one red eye up and down his whole person before giving a nod of her approval. “As long as you follow orders or stay out of the way, I don’t mind bringing you.”
Swallowing another sip of brandy, Wriothesley cracked a smile. “I can work with those terms.”
“It’s settled then,” Beidou said. “As soon as Zhongli heads out, we’ll set off. Join the crew to raise the anchor. I’ll have Juza assign you a cot and a rotation once we’re out to sea.”
Gods, it had been ages since Wriothesley had been ordered around like crew. Even longer since he’d referred to anyone as a superior. “Right away, captain,” he said.
At the very least, it would only be temporary.
