Do the plains we used to walk together also grieve that we're no longer walking the same path?
- A Guili (Zhongli x Guizhong) Fanfic
The afternoon sun hung high over Liyue Harbor, and the air drifted lazily through the streets, carrying with it the faint, briny scent of the sea. It was a typical peaceful day for the people of Liyue—children darted around the docks with laughter spilling from their lips, weaving between stacked crates and coiled ropes while sailors shouted playful warnings for them to watch their step.
The streets were alive in that familiar, comforting way: merchants calling out their prices, the soft clink of Mora exchanging hands, and foreign traders stepping off ships with goods and stories from lands far beyond the horizon. Boats came and went with the tide, their sails billowing gently as they glided across the water, adding to the steady rhythm of the harbor that never truly slept.
Zhongli looked down at the streets of Liyue from Yujing Terrace, his gaze calm and unreadable as it followed the steady flow of life below. He had just finished watching another one of Musheng’s performances—another tale of Rex Lapis brought to life with dramatic flair and carefully practiced reverence.
It was only one of the countless stories that drifted through the region, passed from mouth to mouth until they became something almost sacred. During his time living among his people, Zhongli had come to learn one undeniable truth, they had no shortage of tales about him. Some were surprisingly accurate, almost unnervingly so, as if the truth had somehow survived the centuries untouched. Others, however, were so utterly absurd that he could only admire the sheer audacity of mortal imagination.
In those moments, he found himself offering silent praise—not to the tale itself, but to the minds that had woven it. Such creativity, after all, was its own kind of divinity.
His favorite had always been the tale of how the Chasm was formed. The story claimed that Rex Lapis descended from the heavens in a blazing ball of fire, an omen so brilliant it turned the skies white and set the clouds aflame. When he struck the lands of Liyue, the ground itself trembled as if the world were bowing beneath his weight.
The earth cracked open with a thunderous roar, mountains splitting and stone collapsing inward as though the land could no longer hold itself together. In the wake of that divine impact, a vast crater was left behind—so deep and dark it seemed to swallow the light whole—an open wound in the earth that stretched down into the abyss itself.
Truly, their minds were complex things. Even after years of mingling among humans—walking their streets, sharing their customs, listening to their laughter and worries—Zhongli had yet to fully understand them.
They were fragile, fleeting beings, bound by time in a way he would never be… and yet their hearts held a depth that constantly surprised him. They could turn history into legend, grief into song, and truth into something softer, brighter, and easier to carry. And somehow, despite how short their lives were, they always found ways to leave behind something that endured.
He finished the last of his tea in a slow, measured sip before setting the cup aside and rising to his feet. With the same calm composure he always carried, he offered Musheng a few words of sincere praise, gentle compliments delivered with the quiet weight of someone who truly understood the tale being told.
Then, without lingering any longer, Zhongli turned and made his way down from Yujing Terrace, descending toward the lively heart of the harbor. Below, Liyue awaited him in all its familiar warmth—the bustle of merchants, the chatter of townsfolk, and the endless rhythm of a city that thrived beneath the gaze of the mountains and the sea.
He wondered what he should do next.
There wasn’t much to attend to at the funeral parlor, not today at least, and he doubted the Director would mind if he took a little more time for himself. After all, Hu Tao had always been… flexible, in her own peculiar way, so long as things were handled when they truly mattered.
And for once, Zhongli found he did not mind the luxury of idleness.
The streets below offered no shortage of distractions: the aroma of freshly steamed buns drifting from a nearby stall, the lively calls of merchants advertising their wares, the distant clang of smithing from the lower docks. Liyue moved with a rhythm that was both familiar and endlessly changing, like the tide itself.
Perhaps he would simply walk. Perhaps he would listen. Or perhaps,if fate was feeling particularly generous, something unexpected would find him first.
He strolled through the lively streets of the harbor, unhurried and composed, carefully observing the musings of his people as they went about their day. Snippets of conversation drifted past him like fallen leaves on the wind—merchant gossip, friendly banter, quiet complaints about the heat, and excited chatter over the newest shipment that had just come in.
Not long after, the noise of the city began to soften, fading into the distance until it became little more than a dull hum behind him. Before he knew it, Zhongli found himself standing at the outermost entrance of the city, where the bustle of Liyue Harbor gave way to open paths and the vast, waiting world beyond.
It had been quite a while since he last ventured beyond Liyue Harbor. There hadn’t been much reason to, anyway. The Millelith stationed throughout the region were more than capable of safeguarding the land, steadfast and disciplined in their duty. And the adepti—silent, unseen, yet ever watchful—still kept a keen eye over Liyue as its timeless protectors, guarding it in ways most mortals would never notice, let alone understand.
Besides… Zhongli had always preferred to spend his time among his people.
There was something grounding about it, the warmth of ordinary lives brushing past his own, the way Liyue breathed and grew with each passing day. Within the harbor’s bustling streets, he could listen, observe, and simply be—not as an archon, not as a legend carved into stone, but as Zhongli, another face in the crowd.
Still, he found himself following the winding trail that stretched beyond the city gates and into the vast, waiting lands ahead. The path was quiet compared to the harbor—no merchants calling out their wares, no clatter of footsteps against stone—only the soft rustle of grass beneath the breeze and the distant cry of birds soaring somewhere overhead.
The lush green fields and towering mountains in the distance stirred something deep within him, a quiet sense of familiarity that settled in his chest like an old memory resurfacing. It reminded him of a time long before—back when he wasn’t Zhongli yet. Back when he still bore the full weight of divinity upon his shoulders, when every step he took carried the burden of responsibility, and every choice he made shaped the fate of an entire nation.
In those days, the land had felt different. Wilder. Untamed. A place that demanded strength and sacrifice in equal measure. And he… he had been someone else entirely.
He had traversed these lands more times than he could count, treading the same paths through seasons and centuries alike. And each time, he had watched them shift—slowly, quietly—year after year, era after era. He remained the silent witness to time’s unrelenting course, observing as rivers carved new routes, as mountains weathered and softened, as once-bustling places faded into nothing more than names whispered in passing.
It wasn’t long before he found himself upon a familiar stretch of plains, one he knew all too well.
Fallen ruins and fractured remnants of buildings lay scattered across the land like broken bones, half-swallowed by grass and soil. Stone pillars stood crooked, their carvings worn down by wind and rain until they were barely recognizable. What was once proud and whole had been reduced to fragments, abandoned by the world and forgotten by those who came after.
Forgotten by time… and yet, he remembered.
He remembered the voices that once echoed here, the lives that had moved through these halls, the weight of decisions made beneath open skies. Even as the land reclaimed what humanity had built, Zhongli’s memory held it in place—clear as if it had all happened only yesterday.
He stopped in his tracks, his gaze settling on the desolate expanse before him. To any casual onlooker, this place was nothing more than a fragment of Liyue’s history—a relic of a bygone era, quietly fading into the embrace of the earth. Broken stones, toppled pillars, and the remnants of walls whispered only faintly of what had once been.
But he remembered. Perhaps too much, even. Every crack in the stone, every pattern worn by time, every shadow that lingered across the plains carried a memory—moments of triumph, sorrow, and decisions heavy enough to shape lives. To him, the ruins were not silent. They spoke, and their echoes pressed against his mind with the weight of centuries.
Gazing at the ruins—the rubble strewn across the plains, the eroded walls barely clinging to their former shapes—he felt the weight of memory press upon him. He remembered when these buildings had stood tall, vibrant with life, each street and hall alive with laughter, labor, and the quiet rhythms of human existence.
This had been a safe refuge in a world where monsters prowled and gods ruled with indifferent hands. A sanctuary he himself had helped build, stone by stone, beam by beam, with his own two hands—for the humans she had loved so deeply, for the lives he had sworn to protect.
Guizhong.
He drew in a sharp, almost painful breath as the name resurfaced in his mind. Guizhong. It was a name he had long buried in the dark recesses of his being, a memory carefully locked away. Yet no matter how deeply he had tried to hide it, every time he thought of her, grief and rage rose unbidden, a tide that threatened to overwhelm even his centuries-hardened composure.
Time had done nothing to dull the ache that came with her memory. Centuries had passed, yet the wound remained fresh, raw as the day it was inflicted.
He closed his eyes, and the carefully buried memories surged forth. Faces, voices, and moments long thought forgotten played vividly behind his eyelids—the warmth of her laughter, the sharp edge of loss, the terrible inevitability of what had been taken from him.
To the people of Liyue, this place might appear as nothing more than a fragment of their past—a forgotten stretch of ruins with little meaning beyond the stories of old. They did not know, could not know, that it was here that everything had begun.
It was here that he had first begun to truly appreciate humanity for their resilience, their fleeting beauty, the way they clung to life despite the chaos of the world around them. Here, among these stones and open skies, he had carved a place for them. For her.
Every wall he had raised, every beam he had set, had been a tribute to the humans she cherished. Even as the years passed by, her memory still lingered in every corner of this sacred space.
Here, in this quiet, forgotten land, the seeds of care, of attachment, of something far deeper than duty, had been sown.
He remembered the first time they met.
He had found her standing in a field of Glaze Lilies, the pale flowers swaying gently beneath the breeze. And even then, she had stood out—her presence outshining the delicate blossoms, radiant in a way that made the lilies themselves seem almost dull by comparison.
A gentle goddess, she moved with a quiet grace in a world still scarred and ravaged by the wrath of the gods. Her billowing sleeves danced with the wind, and a soft, serene smile graced her face—one that carried warmth and kindness even in the shadow of chaos.
It was there that their companionship began.
The Lord of Geo and the God of Dust.
Not as gods bound by duty, by contracts, or by the weight of expectation but as partners, equal in measure, bound instead by understanding.
In that quiet field of Glaze Lilies, amidst a world still trembling from divine wrath, they
forged a connection not from obligation, but from choice.
Here, for the first time, Zhongli knew the meaning of shared purpose tempered with trust, of companionship that did not demand sacrifice, but offered it freely. And in her presence, the world, with all its chaos and ruin, seemed just a little gentler.
He had been different back then. All might and brute strength, like an immovable force of nature—unyielding, deliberate, and absolute—much like the Geo he held dominion over. His presence was solid, enduring, and commanding, and he carried the weight of centuries with the measured composure of stone.
She, on the other hand, was as gentle as the dust she commanded, delicate yet profound in her subtlety, and beautiful beyond measure—like the flowers she surrounded herself with. Their petals glimmered in vibrant blues, a perfect mirror to the cerulean depths of her eyes. She laughed with unbridled joy, her voice carrying the warmth of sunlight, and spoke with passionate intensity about her newest discoveries, each word infused with curiosity and life.
She was a kind of presence he had never known, a force not of power, but of grace. he found himself drawn to her, captivated in a way that no command, no contract, and no divine duty could explain.
His mind goes back to the times they had walked over these very lands, the wind brushing against them as she rambled on about her ideas for a new invention.
He listened with quiet patience, content to simply bask in her presence, letting her words flow over him like a gentle stream.
“Maybe if I tweak the mechanism on the load, it would release the arrow much faster,” Guizhong rambled, her voice bubbling with excitement. She rambled on endlessly as they walked across the plains, her steps light, her enthusiasm infectious.
Zhongli said nothing, he did not need to. Her energy, her brilliance, the way her mind raced ahead of reality itself, was enough to fill the space between them.
He hummed softly in quiet contentment. He was never as quick-witted as she was, and more than once he found himself lost in the tangle of her explanations, struggling to keep pace with her brilliant mind.
Guizhong stopped in her tracks, turning to look at him with eyes full of anticipation. Her gaze was expectant, eager, and entirely unyielding, as if she already knew the weight his opinion carried.
“What do you think?” she asked,
Zhongli met her gaze, his expression calm and measured, yet beneath it, a flicker of admiration lingered—for her curiosity, her brilliance, and the effortless way she could draw him into the orbit of her world.
He gave no immediate reply, simply staring at her, the quiet weight of his gaze lingering in the space between them. What insight could he possibly offer? She was far more knowledgeable in these things than he ever was.
“I haven’t the slightest idea how your inventions operate,” he admitted finally, his voice calm but honest. He could tell by the faint pout forming on her lips that she was disappointed by his words.
“That’s no help at all,” she said, a playful edge of frustration in her tone.
“You know your inventions best,” he replied, his eyes never leaving hers. “I am… inexperienced in such matters.”
There was a pause, a moment of silence that stretched comfortably between them.
She held her sleeve to her mouth and let out a soft giggle. “Which is precisely why I ask for your thoughts,” she said, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “I have a tendency to overthink my ideas. It’s rather nice to hear some… simple opinion on such matters.”
He raised a brow at her choice of words, prompting her to flash a toothy grin in response. She had always loved to tease him, and he had always allowed it, silently amused by her playful persistence.
A small, unbidden smile tugged at his lips in the present as he recalled those moments—the warmth of her laughter, the effortless way she drew him in, the comfort of being beside her even when he understood little of her brilliant mind.
It was also here, amidst the now stark expanse of this barren land, that she presented him with a stone dumbbell, crafted with meticulous care, a design born entirely from her hands.
It was a token of their bond, a silent promise between two souls. At the time, he had dismissed it as a trivial notion—there was no formal contract between them, no binding words or oaths. They were simply two people walking the same path, each driven by their own reasons.
"This is the mark of our pledge," she said, "All my wisdom is hidden within this stone dumbbell." her voice steady yet carrying an unspoken weight, "and it is also my challenge to you."
She held it out to him, the rough edges catching the pale light
He remembered that moment. He didn’t think he could ever forget it. Even if his body eventually surrendered to the relentless weight of erosion, even when time will his strength and dimmed every other memory, that one would remain untouched. Every memory of her was forever carved into his heart, etched so deeply that not even eternity could wear it away.
He slowly held out his palm.
A stone dumbbell materialized above it, bathed in a warm golden radiance. Its light had never faded through the passing years, burning with the same quiet brilliance as the day it was first placed in his hands. It was an ever-present reminder of the vow they had made, of the bond they had forged, and of her final promise to him.
As long as its golden glow endured, so too would the memory of the woman he could never bring himself to forget.
Then a far more bitter memory surfaced.
It had happened here, on these very plains.
This was where she had drawn her final breath.
Her last smile had been a lonely one, gentle yet filled with quiet resignation, as though she had already accepted the fate that awaited her. He could only watch in silence as her body dissolved into the finest golden dust, carried away by the wind until not even a trace of her remained.
“It seems that our journey together has come to an end. As for that stone dumbbell… forget about it, would you?”
Those words continued to haunt him, even centuries later.
Time had buried kingdoms, raised new civilizations, and erased countless names from history, yet he could still hear her voice as clearly as he had on that day. And despite the countless years that had passed, despite every attempt he had made, he had never been able to unlock the stone dumbbell.
For a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to linger there.
It was here, in this now-barren land that had shaped so much of Liyue’s history, that the past whispered its weight.
In these ruined and forgotten stretches they had once built together, she had quietly sown the seeds of affection and tenderness into his once-hardened heart, leaving traces of light where only stone and shadow had once dwelled.
Every rock, every speck of dust in this place carries a fragment of her. Though the relentless gears of time may turn, and even as the hardest stone crumbles into dust, her presence will endure.
Her name, her essence, will remain etched upon this land, an eternal imprint that no passage of years can erase.
There will come a day when he too is worn away by time, a day when her name is no longer spoken by mortal tongues. Yet, for as long as he draws breath, he will carry a part of her within him, an unyielding echo of her presence that no passing years can diminish.
Here, among the ruins, lies a part of him that no passage of time can ever erase, a fragment of his soul where her memories remain forever locked, safe within his heart.
He stood beneath the lazy Liyue sun, alone amidst the barren plains and the crumbling ruins of what had once been a thriving land. The wind drifted through broken stone and forgotten monuments, carrying with it echoes of an age long buried. Here, every step, every breath, reminded him of her.
It was unlike him to linger in the past. He had always walked forward without hesitation, carrying the weight of history with quiet resolve. Yet today, he allowed himself this single moment of weakness. Just this once, he let the memories wash over him.
Only a handful still knew that ancient Liyue had once been ruled by two. Fewer still remembered her name.
An era that had been shaped by gods had long since come to an end. One by one, they had fallen to war, to time, or to their own ambitions, until their names became little more than fading myths. Hers had been no different.
No worshippers remained to tend her altars. No incense was offered in her honor.
No prayers carried her name upon the wind.
Yet even if the world had forgotten her… he never would.
So he remained.
In the silent ruins of the nation they had once ruled together, he stood as the last witness to her existence—the lone keeper of a name that history had abandoned, and of a promise that even centuries could not erode.
