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Those of Teyvat who explored its history knew of the place where history was but a goldmine.
After all, Liyue is one of the main pillars of Teyvat; with the oldest surviving Archon since the Archon War, it is a place of constancy and stability much like the element it revolves around. This means it is logical that people know of Liyue and its rich history, and the many mythical beings—also known as adepti—that have served Liyue in the past.
The problem is that you were not many people and you were a traveller of other circumstances.
You still remembered when you met the last Vigilant Yaksha, part of one of the most violent facets of Liyuen history. It was an honest coincidence, having sought out the tall peak of a mountain for a bundle of qingxin flowers only to stumble upon a figure standing at the very edge of the other side of the cliff. The sun that day burned low in the sky, casting a gloomy shadow of gold over this silhouette you decided to approach.
You’d taken his form in for maybe twenty seconds before you finally clambered to the top of the rock, then called out to the person. “Hey.”
The figure—by the shape of the silhouette, you gathered he was a man of shorter, but firmer, stature—made no movements to acknowledge you. He seemed to be in his own world, or perhaps he was ignoring you on purpose. Nonetheless, that didn’t deter you.
“I, uh, I like your mask,” you finally called out, having gotten your own two feet on the footing of the very precarious cliff. From here, you could see the outlines of clouds and the surrounding landscape of Jueyun Karst—not a place many travelled to unless intending to embark on a pilgrimage, but as a traveller, you felt it was your responsibility to undertake these paths less taken.
Your observation this time managed to get a slight turn of the head. You spotted eyes that appeared as golden as the sky before you, narrowed slightly at you. Perhaps you were annoying him?
Reckless as ever, you’d continued with your rambling. “The one on your hip. It’s a nice mask. Looks, um, vintage. Where’d you get it?” When your only response was the wind gently blowing past your hair, you quickly added, “Or did you hand-make it?”
Only this time did you get a response, and it was so quiet that you almost didn’t hear it.
“You don’t know who I am?”
“Ah, sorry,” you rubbed the back of your neck, smiling politely. “I’m, uh, not from this side of town. So to speak. If you’re one of those, like, super-important people… ah, what were they called again—”
“Adepti.”
“Adepti! Yes,” you had grinned earnestly, pointing eagerly. “If you’re one of those, I sincerely apologise. I don’t know much about Liyuen history.”
A brief silence followed, but he did not leave you hanging for long. “... It matters not. To answer your question, the mask was given to me.”
“Oh, very cool,” you had stepped forward tentatively, hoping that his response implied he’d be willing to speak at least a little. After all, a day in Jueyun Karst meant you had seen very few people on your journey—not that the isolation mattered all to you, it was only a curiosity to see someone so high up now. “Must’ve been a good friend.”
He hummed. “I wouldn’t call him a friend.” His eyes took themselves off you, instead opting to stare at the dusky scenery laid out before you. A golden land of Geo, slumbering in the peace of millennia of prosperity. What part the adepti played in establishing or maintaining that, you didn’t know—you didn’t even know the man before you. “I would be more inclined to call him a… guide.”
It was your turn to hum thoughtfully, pressing forward with more curiosity than the average human. Now you would feel bad to pick these qingxins—clearly, the man before you had sought out this beautiful cliff for all its natural wonders, and if you took from that, you felt that you would disrespect him. “Well, that all sounds very neat. I’ll leave you to it, then.”
Once again, he only glanced at you over his shoulder. You had no doubts he could see you, but he seemed unwilling to disturb his own solitude by actually facing you. “Most are not so casual in the face of an adeptus.”
“Well,” you paused mid-step, mid-retreat. You took a moment to consider his words, how they sounded calm but held a certain air of… relief to them. Granted, he seemed very set in tradition based on what you’d gathered so far, but it seemed that you had disrupted that flow somehow. “If I knew more about adepti, I’d probably be more, uh… respectful? Reverent. But—well, you seem to be on a break, so—”
“Adepti never take breaks,” he replied, tone quick to shut down your ambling thoughts.
“Oh, cool. So, you’re admiring the scenery for work purposes?”
He let out a soft grunt, like he hadn’t expected your quick-witted response. Nonetheless, you fought with the playful smile growing on your lips, raising a brow as a silent challenge. Finally, he huffed, “I don’t know whether to appreciate or scoff at your irreverence.”
“Well, I was gonna leave you be, but now I have to ask,” you plopped down on a rather precarious juncture of rock, a few stray pebbles brushing off and falling a great distance below. The height didn’t particularly concern you—this far up, you secured yourself with at least some rope to climb, and besides; the whole purpose of travelling was to experience sights you’d never seen before. Teyvat’s landscape varied from nation to nation, and not many places held daring sights such as these. “How do people normally treat adepti?”
He let out a sigh, like it was paining him to speak or even breathe. Yet after a few moments of broody silence from the dark-haired figure, he tilted his head in a way that allowed you access to his face—the brilliant golden eyes, the small purple diamond on his forehead, the rather flat expression adorning his face. “Most treat the adepti as gods.”
“Like Archons?”
“Not quite.” He shut his eyes. “It’s part of Liyue’s history. You’d be better off hearing it from someone else.”
“But you’re one of those adepti, aren’t you?” You countered. “That means that you practically are history. Who better to learn it from?”
“Let me put it this way,” he curtly responded, eyes once again opened—and narrowed, with a clear hint of annoyance fraying at the edges. Despite how gorgeous the setting sun made him look—giving him a golden glow and emphasising the teal highlights in his darkened hair—he was clearly not pleased that he’d somehow maintained this exchange for as long as he did. “I don’t mingle with mortals. Learn your history elsewhere.”
This time, he didn’t let you take a breath to establish a counter-point before wisps of teal-and-black smoke billowed where he once stood, the sun now glaring directly into your eyes. You blinked the brightness away, and only the open air greeted you. It was like he’d never been there, or like he’d plunged off the cliff in a swift and decisive manoeuvre—yet a glance down confirmed that he was nowhere to be seen.
So you met your first adeptus in Jueyun Karst. Naturally, that incited your curiosity.
As you continued your exploration of the tall valleys and even taller mountain peaks, you found more traces and hints of adeptal presence, so to speak. Old stone slates, random ritual sites, the works. Yet what drew you in the most was finding one of the tallest mountain peaks and simply taking in the scenery. There you gathered materials—violetgrass, qingxins, sometimes even a broken-off chunk of cor lapis—which you could either sell on your journey or retain as a memento of your time in Liyue. Or maybe you could send it home…
Three days passed before you encountered the same adeptus again.
Once again, it was a complete coincidence—by now, you’d gathered that the adeptus would not let himself be found if he didn’t want to be found, and every time you stumbled upon him he was clearly preoccupied. This time, you found him when you’d accidentally rapelled into a camp of Hilichurls, though the creatures were nowhere to be found—only traces of dark, ink-like blood and the remnants of a fight.
Of course, this had initially caused alarm in your instincts—you were not prone to fights, preferring to run or maybe even talk it out (your Hilichurlian was rough, but you’d been on the road enough to manage a, “Celi dada, mimi nunu,” every once in a while)—but your anxiety was somehow alleviated when you saw a familiar figure at the base of the camp, standing over the fading body of a Lawachurl.
He noticed your presence long before you noticed him. “You should leave.”
“I just rappelled down,” you explained, gesturing at the cord you were tying up to secure on your hip again. Despite this, he shook his head.
“This camp was infested with demonic presence,” he shot back, “Extensive exposure to humans can cause adverse effects.”
“Is that part of your job description?”
He didn’t say anything that time, instead casting you a glance that could be interpreted as a question mark. You tilted your head.
“Do adepti routinely clean out Hilichurl camps with, er, demonic presence?”
He glanced away, twirling an ornate-looking spear in his grasp. Its emerald peaks caught the light of the moon above you—honestly, you hadn’t expected to be out this late, but your backpacking meant that your sleep schedule was yours and yours alone. After a moment of stubborn silence, he responded, “It is only the responsibility of the Yakshas.”
“The Yakshas?” You echoed. You took this as your opportunity to step closer. “Are they, like, a sub-group of the adepti?”
“... You could put it that way,” he shrugged, and with another elegant twirl the spear dissipated into thin air. “They are guardians of Liyue, bound by a contract to protect the land from demonic presence.”
“Oh.” You had no doubt that he was probably irritated by you from the get-go, and maybe your ignorance wasn’t the best balm for him. Nonetheless, you were both curious and brave, and maybe that was what pushed you to continue talking. “That’s nice of you. So, you’re one of the Yakshas, then?”
“The last one left.”
And that’s when you heard it—a certain kind of sorrow in his tone, one wistful and forlorn for times long gone. It reminded you of some of the old people you’d encountered in Qingce Village, when you asked them about their lives. They loved to talk, unlike the man before you, but despite that they shared a certain pain. Events that haunted them, decisions made and not made, regrets of a very, very long life. Perhaps that was what made him sound so mellow but shut-off, but you had no time to question it—he interrupted your thoughts before you could speak.
“Like I said. You should leave before the presence of karmic debt takes a toll on you.”
“Does it not take effect on adepti?” You queried.
A long silence followed, and maybe that was enough to answer for him. Still, he lowered his head slightly, and turned to face you fully—in the darkness, you hardly saw the ornate intricacies of his clothing, but you had no doubts that they were likely features of great importance much like the mask on his hip. “It does.”
“Well…” You bit your lip, but quickly recovered from your early stumble. “I don’t know your name to reprimand you personally, but I think it’s unfair that you’d have to directly encounter this whole karmic debt thing if it affects you like a human.” To add merit to your so-called sternness, you made a point of crossing your arms over your chest, a posture that was soon copied by the unimpressed adeptus standing before you.
“There are many flaws in your argument,” he replied flatly, almost cuttingly. You kept your stance firm, not willing to budge against the adeptus while he had yet to point any out. “First of all, it’s not quite the same. Second, I’m under a contract to protect Liyue and have been dealing with karmic debt for thousands of years. Third, your position on the matter is childish and unbelievably mortal and you’re wasting your time wallowing in an area of danger.”
With every deduction, you felt yourself falter with a wince—for someone whose voice was generally rather gentle, his tone and words were harsh and much more serious than what you could manage. You even managed a little wince as you uncrossed your arms, having the decency to at least look a little sheepish about the whole ordeal. Before you could voice your apologies, though, he raised a brow as if expecting your following words.
“And finally, my name is Xiao.” He turned away from you. “Spare me your apology. Just stay out of trouble.”
Yet again, he disappeared.
But at least you’d learned the name of the adeptus you’d encountered twice by that point.
For some reason, you stayed in Liyue for longer than your normally did in any other region. Your visits were usually quick and to the point—to collect your thoughts and some trinkets, maybe meet new people, figure out what it was you wished to do with your life. You’d become a wanderer very early into your adulthood, much to the chagrin of your parents, but you knew that this was the path you were destined for—staying stagnant in one nation, working at who-knows-what for who-knows-how-long was not a life that had ever enticed you.
It was the risk, the thrill, the joy of experiencing every sensation of the world for yourself.
Unfortunately, your habits of finding risk and thrill were what caught you in your third encounter, about two weeks later.
It had been an accident on your behalf. Seriously. Normally, you were more careful when exploring areas covered in thickets of green, but one slip-up meant you’d fallen down a very large pit and barely caught on an array of vines that barely broke your fall over a very precarious-looking ending of rocks. Hanging there, you’d only managed one glance into the cavern underground before you realised the gravity of the situation you’d quite literally landed in.
It was nothing short of a test of your agility and endurance when you survived barrage after barrage from the malevolent spirit that had overtaken the abyss mage huddled in this dark corner of a cavern. Bursts of fire ignited the grass beneath your feet, glowing a hue that was unnatural for fire to scorch the ground. You recalled jumping around, attempting to dodge the underhanded ways of attack—
Only for a last-minute figure to enter the picture and decimate the abyss mage in one fell swoop of his emerald spear.
You were busy trying to pat out the small scorch marks and embers that had caught on the ends of your boots and hems of your sleeves. When that was done, you barely had the chance to look up to see the unimpressed glare of a face that was starting to become familiar.
“I thought I told you to stay out of trouble.”
“In my defence, I fell into the trouble.”
“You fell into—” He took a glance to his left, where the cavern opening was more obvious now that the vines had been disturbed by your tumble. Sunlight shone into the somewhat-dim cave, illuminating Xiao’s face perfectly when he let out a sigh that indicated his discontentment with life. A more quiet murmur of, “You mortals,” followed before he settled you with a glare. “Watch where you’re walking.”
“I did! The entrance is not as visible as it looks from here.” You pouted, still sitting on the scorched grass like some petulant child.
“What are you climbing around these areas, anyway? This domain is hardly accessible by conventional means.” He seemed annoyed still, but at least he was still talking. Even if his words were ire-stemmed and often seemed to condescend you in one way or another.
“Ah, I should’ve probably mentioned this earlier,” you managed to clamber your way back to your feet and, upon testing, deduced that you were not injured seriously enough to be held up in your exploration. “I’m an adventurer.”
“That much I gathered.”
“Then it makes sense why I’m here,” you concluded, smiling blankly at him. “I was actually looking for this really rare breed of violetgrass I heard about. I was told it only grows here—”
“You mean thistlegrass.” He finished your thought for you, though how you knew what you were talking about was beyond you. He crossed his arms, a slight pinch in his brow as he looked at you. “Putting aside the fact that thistlegrass went extinct about twenty years ago, you were willing to risk your life for a special type of violetgrass?”
“Uh.” Well, if he put it that way, obviously you looked like a moron. “Yes?”
His stare was enough to confirm that much for you.
“I cannot be sure to deem you incredibly unlucky or lucky,” he mused, leaning against the cool wall of the cavern. “Most people pray to encounter an adeptus once in their life, let alone multiple times.”
“Oh, because you guys are really important, right?”
He hummed, against his better judgement. “Many people have the idea that adepti can fulfil a variety of their wishes. Their thinking is flawed and we’re not capable of the incredible feats they often wish for, but it is too ingrained into our tradition for them to change.”
“Hm.” You considered his statement for a moment. “Maybe if they wanted to meet you, they should’ve become adventurers.”
An unfamiliar expression crossed the serious adeptus’ face, one you weren’t sure what to make of. For one, it seemed that his eyes lit up with something akin to confusion for a moment, before his brows pinched together and he quickly raised a hand to clear his throat. What remained was a slight pinkish hue on his tan skin, which was diminished by the warning edge to his words. “Your ideas are not amusing.”
You shrugged, shooting him a sheepish grin. “Worth a shot. In any case, thank you for rescuing me. Even if I have no idea how you got here so quick.”
As you began your careful ascent out of the cavern, you heard a quick, hesitant shuffle behind you. “Hey.”
Mid-climb, you looked over your shoulder at the adeptus. “I don’t know how long you’re planning to stay in Liyue, but it would be unwise to keep your guard so low.” He paused, as if he were debating something in his mind, before pursing his lips and furrowing his brows in determination. “If you ever find yourself in danger, call my name.”
“Okay… Xiao.” Then, a light sparked in your head. “Oh! I completely forgot to tell you my name!” You quickly rectified this oversight by immediately divulging this information, at which the adeptus only sniffed dismissively and let you go with no other words for you.
If his disappearing from where he once stood wasn’t such an indication, you didn’t know what was.
It was strange, in a sense. Over the next month that you continued your stay in Liyue, you encountered the adeptus more often than not. Most of the time, you two seemed to agree to chalk it up to coincidence, and only exchanged a few words at each scene before you went your own ways—or rather, he disappeared and you continued your hike to who-knows-where.
You had learned some things about adepti, of course. Staying in Liyue and occasionally encountering people in the wilds meant that you had ways of discovering more things about Liyuen culture. Despite the grand tales about adepti and how they were severely revered, you found that you didn’t feel the need to worship the ground Xiao walked on—and something told you that he’d rather you didn’t, especially because he seemed more inclined to speak if you didn’t talk about him being an adeptus and instead engaged in the easier banter the two of you had somehow established.
Among the banter, you found that Xiao was, despite his cold and sometimes harsh exterior, rather caring in his own ways.
Being a risk-taker, he had a tendency to find you in rather precarious positions—scaling the side of a cliff clearly not meant to be scaled, trying to clamber your way on a thousand-year-old bridge that was very clearly clinging to its remaining strands of life with how awfully it creaked, running from groups of very angry Treasure Hoarders that had clearly misunderstood your sudden desire to rappel down from a great height and right into their base. It was more than enough to deal the adeptus at least some grief, which you tried to dispel with jokes that left him choking on air in an attempt to keep a neutral facade, but you sensed that you were getting through to him at least a little.
“I’m not worried about you,” he’d sputter, cheeks once again aflame and amber eyes ablaze with what appeared to be irritation. “The only thing I’m worried about is your tendency to get into ridiculous situations.”
A month of travelling also led you to Wangshu Inn, a place you soon learned was often occupied by Xiao himself. You weren’t told as much, rather taking solace on the balcony with a plate of almond tofu handed to you by a smiling chef on a foggy night when nobody else would be on the balcony otherwise. It was barely five minutes before you felt a shift in the air, and when you looked over your shoulder, you likely mirrored the bewildered expression that the adeptus held on his face.
“What are you doing here?”
“Eating tofu. What are you doing here?”
“People come up here to—is that almond tofu?”
“Yes?” A pause. “Do you want some?”
“...”
“It’s really good. Here, I’ll let you have the rest.”
“... Fine.”
You learned that Wangshu Inn was Xiao’s base of operations, sort of, and that he also had a strong proclivity towards almond tofu. That night, when fog hung heavily over the tree of Dihua Marsh and the moon and stars were hardly visible, you two managed to talk through the entirety of the darkness. Rather, you did a great deal of rambling and explaining about your life and travels, and Xiao was mostly quiet and attentive and listened while slowly savouring the remnants of the dish you’d given to him. Sometimes, he’d pipe in with a remark of his own or ask a question or scoff, but generally speaking, you considered it one of the longest and most meaningful exchanges the two of you had altogether.
The thought gave you warm and fuzzy memories, ones that made you smile contently at nothing in particular as you sorted through your belongings in the little room you’d rented out in the inn. When you realised that you were smiling off into empty space, you felt your cheeks heat up, but still, the dopey smile didn’t leave your lips.
Okay, so maybe you found the adeptus rather endearing and handsome, especially when he hummed so attentively at all your stories from home, but that wasn’t so bad, right? You were mature enough to maintain a friendship with him! It was so unlikely that he saw you as much more than a nuisance, anyway.
And for some horrible reasoning, your overthinking had clearly been an omen for the future, because for the next three weeks, you saw little to nothing of Xiao.
You didn’t know why, but it disheartened you a little. Or maybe you did know why—a little childish crush had wormed its way into your heart, and now you felt confused at his lack of presence. It’s not like you’d told him. Had you acted wrong? Why could you no longer find him?
It was so tempting to call his name, especially when he’d insisted you call for him should you find yourself in danger. Of course, danger was part of your living as an avid adventurer, so theoretically you could call him at any point, but that didn’t feel quite fair, either. After all, as an adeptus, he was most likely busy at all hours of the day, so why would you interrupt that process of fighting? Yes, you knew he needed a break and likely pushed himself much further than what he was able to endure pain-wise, but he was an immortal. Having lived for millennia, he’d lived with it for so long. Shouldn’t that mean you should keep your nose out of it?
These thoughts plagued your mind and bothered your soul, but you fought to keep a lid on it. You were here to adventure, after all. Once you’d uncovered all of Liyue’s secrets, you would continue your journey in the next nation, and then the next, and continue the cycle until you figured out what it was you wanted to do with your life and how your spirit felt when it finally settled.
Soon enough, you would leave, and Xiao would become a distant memory.
That thought made you sit up in bed late at night, just as you were drifting off. It was so sudden, but it was practically a knee-jerk reaction to sit up with wide glossy eyes and a rapidly beating heart in your chest. Even when you curled the blanket more tightly around yourself, you couldn’t still the unease washing over you, the way your heart seemed to thrum earnestly and with life within you.
You didn’t like that thought, you concluded.
You didn’t like the idea of Xiao becoming just a memory.
You…
Maybe it was a little more than a crush.
This left you in somewhat of a slump, and by now it was the fourth week you hadn’t seen Xiao. You felt a bit petulant at that knowledge, but once again felt that you could not press him forever—not that you’d thought of that the past few months you continuously encountered him on your travels. So you stayed determined, refusing to call his name and instead trying to distract yourself by continuing your thorough exploration of every facet of Liyue and its precarious mountains.
Your misfortune only piled up towards the end of your exploration, when you were scaling a grand cliff in Nantianmen and Liyue decided to grace you with the full force of its temperate weather.
While the rocks and stones of the land of Geo were stable and constant as the element they housed, the skies could not say the same. This much was proved when, within about thirty seconds of you noticing the first few droplets, a sudden downpour of rain washed over you and it was all it took for you to not slide straight down the cliff face you’d just begun climbing.
Great. Now your clothes were soaked, your vision was blurred from the rain and dark clouds above you, and the only way for you to go was up. Clearly, you’d used up all your luck to meet Xiao, and now you were faced with genuine peril.
With a deep and resigned sigh, you began climbing again, your grasp this time more tentative on the rocks than it was initially. You couldn’t let the rain stop you—and besides, you were experienced enough that you could brave these conditions. So it would take a little longer, but one step at a time still meant that you’d reach the top of this cliff and hopefully find a little nook you could hide in until this sudden storm passed over and everything would be okay again.
Or so you hoped.
Most deaths could be accounted for as a little mistake—an accident, even. Obviously, sometimes it was bigger than that, but it was often one event that set off a chain that led to perilous situations. It was what you should’ve kept in mind, soaked to the bone that you were shivering with every tentative move as you tried to scale a nigh-impossible cliff while rain beat down against you and the stone.
Nonetheless, it was once again one mistake that led you losing your grip on the cliff, your hand slipping off and hanging below you. You let out a small huff and a curse, braving yourself to ignore the depths below you—with this much rain, the ground could hardly be distinguished, giving you the impression of being much higher up than what you may have actually been.
Shaking your head, you tried another juncture of rock, pulled yourself up, and continued your ascent.
Only for that mistake to be your last when the ledge beneath one of your feet crumbled and you stumbled with a scream, clutching on to the face of the cliff with a death grip.
A thousand thoughts rushed through your mind, heart beating rapidly in your chest. If you fell now, it would certainly cause a lot more than injury. But you couldn’t climb down in these conditions. But right now—you couldn’t even get your footing. Worst of all, your grip was wet and slippery and your palms were drenched in rain and sweat, all loosening the hold you had and bringing you closer and closer to a fall you wouldn’t recover from.
What could you do? You were in danger, and the danger was unavoidable. Most of all, you were alone, with nobody to call out to and no one to grab your arm and maybe give you that push that would help you up the cliff at its final stages—
Wait.
Your grip loosened.
I could maybe—
Only your fingertips held you now.
It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t come. I at least have to try.
And then, you lost your grip entirely and you were in the first stages of falling.
The sensation was short yet slow, wind and rain whipping past you for the first few seconds. Then, the shock finally registered and you knew who to call for.
“Xia—”
The name couldn’t even entirely leave your lips before a flash of teal was by your side, engulfing your vision. In the blink of an eye, you felt two strong arms encircling you, and suddenly another flash of darkness in your vision left you with the distinct sensation that you’d stopped falling.
When your vision and insides adjusted to the sudden sensation and movement, you realised that you were looking at the light grey clouds concealed by the leaves of a mighty gingko tree. You blinked once, twice, and then saw amber eyes matching the golden leaves of the tree staring into your own, notably concerned. It was only then that you felt the steady grounding of wood beneath you, damp with the considerably softer rain of this area pattering over you. Wangshu Inn.
Finally, you found your voice. “Xiao?”
“Don’t speak too much,” he cut you off, hoisting you to your feet with a surprisingly firm and warm hold. He still had a hand holding on to your arm as you stood, and when you stumbled with a sudden bout of dizziness, he didn’t hesitate to catch you again. “Your room. Where is it?”
Your face was buried in his chest, luckily concealing the flush that fell over it despite your confusion, but you somehow managed to point out the inn room you’d been granted by the manager of the establishment. Without another word, a smoky blur of black enveloped you again, and you found yourself under a roof and in dry comfort.
“You’ll catch a cold if you stay in those wet clothes,” you heard, or almost felt, him speak, his voice rumbling in his chest. “It’s best if you get changed.”
“Mmmm.” You hummed in agreement, but couldn’t quite will yourself to move away yet. At some point, you’d found yourself encircling Xiao with your arms, too, and currently your vice-grip on the back of his shirt seemed to be locked in against your will. The thought should fluster you, especially with the warmth he radiated, but rationality had long left your mind—seeing him here now, feeling him, you came to the conclusion that you’d missed him.
He uttered your name, tone almost disapproving, but he made no move to pry you off him. After a few moments of silence, he seemed to be confident in tentatively raising his arms to hug you back—touch feather-light, almost awkward, as if he were afraid of the fragility you possessed as a mortal. The two of you stayed like that for quite a while, with you just slowly returning to earth by matching his breathing, and him not speaking much aside from a confused-sounding hum every once in a while when your grip tightened a little on him.
Reluctantly, you eventually had to let go, and you were faced with him from much closer than you’d ever been. From this close, you could see the specks of darker topaz in his bright-golden eyes, and the way his thick lashes framed them so delicately. From this close, you could see the way turquoise and a much darker hue weaved throughout his hair in contrasting streaks, his hair damp from the rain but looking soft as ever. From this close, you could see the sheen on his lips, and—
“Sorry,” you muttered, taking a tentative step back. “I’ll, uh… I’ll be right back.”
You didn’t quite catch his expression when you turned, shuffling into the little bathroom adjacent to your room with a spare change of clothes you’d left hanging in the closet as you’d become accustomed to calling Wangshu Inn as a base of operations—partly called as such because you’d originally teased Xiao about it, but now, you were glad you hadn’t made camp in the wilderness.
When you came out a few minutes later, Xiao was standing out the window, arms crossed over his chest and a pensive expression on his face as he contemplated the rain pattering against class. At the sound of your entrance, he glanced back at you, eyes seeming to scan you with an almost burning intensity. “I take it you’re fine.”
How are you feeling?
You hummed and nodded, adjusting the ends of your sleeves as you shuffled up to him. “I’ll be fine.”
I missed you.
The adeptus pursed his lips, brows pinching lightly, before he reprimanded, “That was reckless of you. You could’ve—”
“I know.” You nodded, tone quiet and sheepish. “I thought I was gonna. So… Thank you. For rescuing me.”
He only let out a soft scoff. “I told you to call my name when in danger.”
“Yeah, but…” You shifted awkwardly on your feet, your gaze suddenly finding the wooden floorboards far more interesting. “You were probably busy. I didn’t want to—”
“I would’ve come no matter what.”
You tried your best to manage the restless beat of your heart at his words. “I… Thank you. I just—I didn’t know if you’d still—”
“No matter what,” he repeated again, for emphasis.
“But… but I didn’t hear from you for so long,” you spoke quietly, a stark contrast to the chipper tone you usually took on. “I thought you’d—I don’t—I don’t know…”
A long silence passed between the two of you, charged with a tension you were not familiar with. It was broken by a soft sigh from Xiao, which caused you to look up and see Xiao was staring out the window again.
“I’ve told you I deal with karmic debt of a magnitude not imaginable to humans,” he spoke slowly, patiently. For once, it seemed that he was making a conscious effort to stay gentle. “That sort of debt… it permeates every part of my life. Long exposure could affect you negatively.” He paused, seeming to search for the right words. “I didn’t want you to experience that.”
So… he’d distanced himself because of his karmic debt? You felt your eyes burn, though whether in frustration or embarrassment you didn’t know. Here you’d been so selfish, thinking that it had anything to do with you when he was just suffering—
“I… must admit to something.” That caught your attention again—or was it the hesitant way he spoke? Normally, his words were so measured. “It pains me to say, but I may have misjudged my decision. I thought—I thought that it would be safest for me to stay away from you, but—”
He cut himself off, head tilting away from you entirely. You couldn’t see his expression, couldn’t read what he was thinking. Only saw how his fist clenched, then unclenched, at his side.
“Today made me realise that I don’t… I don’t want to stay away from you.”
You felt your heart skip a beat, eyes widening slightly. Still, you couldn’t see his face.
“It’s… a selfish idea, but it’s one that won’t stop plaguing me.” He sighed deeply, but this time there was no malice in the sigh—only an uncertain contentment, a wistful desire. “I realise that this is a lot to ask of you, but I find myself enjoying your presence and vying for the way you care. Like—like I am simply another person to you, without divine duty—”
“Xiao.”
Your voice cut him off and his posture stiffened. In a small rush of courage, likely adrenaline left over from your near-death experience, you set a hand on his shoulder and gently spun him around to face you. Golden eyes zeroed in on you with the intensity of a thousand suns, yet you couldn’t will yourself to look away—for him, you’d gladly be blind.
Your voice was small, but your words were determined. “I really care about you, too.”
And something inside Xiao seemed to melt when he looked at your earnest expression and the light gleaming inside your eyes, and it was enough for him to reciprocate when you clasped his face in your warm, adventure-roughened palms and pressed your lips against his. For a simple moment, he wasn’t rigid or stern or an adeptus—he was just Xiao, and he was cradled by you so gently with so much care and tenderness that when you pulled away, you finally saw a sight that made your heart bloom inside your chest so much more fervently.
“You look so pretty when you smile.”
Xiao’s cheeks flushed a vivid red in turn, but he made no move to leave the hold you had on him. He hadn’t even realised the corners of his lips had turned up in the gentle grin you mirrored with a lovestruck smile of your own—he simply felt it was natural.
Granted, he was not perfect. Guarded as always, and of course there was the anxiety of what his karmic debt would do to him. But maybe, just maybe, he could act like a human for once—appreciating what was before him in the moment, and choosing to accept the care you gave him.
There were stranger ways to meet people who wanted to devote themselves to him, after all.