“You’ve aged, Morax.”
Zhongli bristles at your words, or perhaps his old name, for a moment, if only a small imperceptible increased tensing to his already stony posture, and you correct yourself.
“I should say Zhongli. I’m sorry.”
You can’t tell if he’s upset now for a few more moments, and something in your belly stirs in apprehension, but he laughs at your poor attempt for a joke, then relaxes his posture finally; you let out a careful sigh and sink to the ground, pulling your knees closer to your chest as you sit, thankful for the slit in your Liyue-issue silk, a welcome change from the ankara cotton you’re used to.
“You don’t look old,” you add for good measure, and he turns to you and smiles.
“I disagree,” he pauses, ruminating over six thousand years in a mere matter of moments. “Admittedly, I would love for it to show more… I do appreciate the ability of humans to grow old, even if they eventually return to dust.”
He shifts his weight from one foot to another, arms uncrossing so that his hands rest in loosely held fists behind his back.
“Gods and humans alike, even if we often claim to share so little with humans.”
A cool breeze cuts through suddenly, blowing in the foot wide space between the two of you as you stand together in the Guili Plains. The mention of dust has you bristling this time in turn, without the stoicism of your companion to carefully mask it.
Thousands of years ago, his friend died here, dissipating as the finest of dust particles, carried away by the wind. Years pass, and time may heal all wounds, but untreated wounds also fester painfully.
You will never understand what it meant to share in that sort of communion. Not with him. Your understanding of Morax, Rex Lapis, Zhongli is different, having met while pleading for amnesty from as many gods as possible throughout Teyvat in order to protect your people. Morax had appeared surprised by how far you traveled, and how bold (perhaps stupid) you were to request a truce but had chosen to understand your desperation, he’d seen enough of it before, and when tragedy tore through every land, he hadn’t forgotten his promise. Morax then had promised to protect you, offering more than a simple request for nonviolence, and you remained thankful for it, your lands in Natlan untouched with a strong ally, and your friendship had begun ever since, through letters and long-spaced visits.
There’s a clear gradient of power between you that has slowly eroded with friendly affection over time, but at this point, you visit and spend time with each other, but you are not sure where you stand.
Perhaps never as ideological equals, not like the members of the Guili Assembly.
And yet, you appreciate the time spent with him right now.
Zhongli finally takes a seat as well among the grasses, close to you. The glaze lilies still sway with the wind, their buds closed shut in the sunlight, preferring to bloom under moonlight and shadow. Humble without lacking beauty or the ability to inspire awe.
Like Guizhong. Like Zhongli.
“Thank you for coming to see me,” he offers.
You don’t turn to look at him immediately because your heart is warmed more than what is imparted by Liyue’s setting sun shining upon you. From your vantage point are acres of sloping hills of green, orange and gold, elegant rock formations bordering graceful seas, and refined architecture.
The people are kind and welcoming, happy much like your own.
“Thank you for having me again after all these years. Liyue is beautiful,” you praise, and you mean it. You turn to him, grinning.
“Your people are lively; the lands are prosperous. They should be happy to have you as their god.”
Zhongli chuckles to himself.
“I think they thrive despite me, and I’m very thankful for it.”
You tilt your head at him to mock his humility, but his smile disarms you. Still, you insist:
“Even if you give up your Gnosis, you’re still you.”
Zhongli turns his body towards you - your hands graze past each other and you quickly pull back, hoping he cannot tell that your heart has skipped a beat.
You are a minor - rather, lesser - god, and you should be thankful you are even friends, that he is willing to entertain you despite all this time.
Do not ask for more, you remind yourself again.
“And what am I exactly?”
His eyebrow is raised and there’s a sparkle of mischief in the way he looks at you.
“Zhongli, not Morax. Not one of the Seven, but a consultant of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor.”
“Exactly.”
Zhongli rises again and reaches out a gloved hand for you to help you up. You take it, patting grass off of your dress, realizing he hasn’t let go even though you are both standing.
He doesn’t let go even as he takes the first step and you wonder if he’s forgotten himself.
“The Yun-Han Opera Troupe is performing tonight. We should hurry back so you can see what else Liyue has to offer.”
He pauses, still holding your hand as you keep up, then smiles at you.
“I hope I can keep you just as enamored…”
There’s a deliberate pause as if he is distracted, and he clears his throat quickly then continues, “... with this beautiful place during this visit.”
“Of course,” you reply, nodding quickly, following his lead.
And your heart skips a beat, and you wonder if he knows.
But just this, being together with him despite the millenia, is enough - after all, you are the goddess of compromise and second chances.