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When Hu Tao descends the stairs to the entrance hall of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor, she is not surprised to see a Fatui agent waiting for the director. Their agents come here often enough. But it is peculiar that the agent did not just leave whatever notes and documents needed to be exchanged with the Ferrylady.
Hu Tao stops three entire steps away from the agent. She does not recognize this one, and it is not so cold during this time of year to require such a thick, fur-lined coat. There is mud caked along the agents' tall boots, and she faintly smells of sweat and the outdoors.
The agent bows toward Hu Tao stiffly and hands over a letter. And just as quickly as the agent appeared, she retreats swiftly and without sound.
Hu Tao turns the envelope over in her hands. It's clearly seen a long journey—the paper is a nice, thick, cream-colored cardstock, but shows the wear of passing through many hands—dark smudges, bent corners. There is no return address or sender written on the envelope, there is only one word written on its face.
It is her consultant's name. Hu Tao recognizes the sharp, slanted script. She has not seen it in a very long time.
She climbs the stairs to the second floor of the funeral parlor, down the narrow hall to the second door on the left that leads to Zhongli's office. She knocks twice. Zhongli's voice is pleasant as he calls out, "You may enter."
Pleasant for having just been the recipient of a severe scolding not even an hour before. Zhongli had squandered so much of their funds this Lantern Rite season. Now Hu Tao finds herself desperately wishing the sender of this letter was around. If that were the case, Wangsheng's funds would be much more safe and secure.
"Master Hu? Is there something you require?"
Zhongli had the sense to apologize and sound genuinely reticent when she'd scowled and raged about the funding that was spent too freely. But their all too familiar spat was an hour ago. They'd had these conversations so many times, and their words never carried barbs. She wonders what Zhongli will think of the letter and watches him carefully as she holds out the correspondence.
She must be making a face. Little tells of concern make their way into Zhongli's own expression.
"No," she says. "I'm just delivering something."
"Is this for me?"
Oops—she'd offered it with the addressee facing downward. She flips the letter over. If Zhongli is surprised when he saw the handwriting, he does not show it.
"Thank you, Master Hu."
"Should I bring you some more tea?" She asks.
"No, that is not necessary." Zhongli holds the letter carefully, staring at his name.
Late in the night and many hours later, Zhongli retires to his apartment to re-read the letter again. Someone knocks at the door. When he opens it, no one is around, but a parcel of food was neatly wrapped and left at the doorstep.
Zhongli will thank Hu Tao when he sees her tomorrow.
Zhongli,
By the time this letter reaches you, it will be toward the end of this year's Lantern Rite, or perhaps a few days after. I debated for longer than I'd like to admit whether I ought to rush the delivery of this note, but it seemed silly to do so for one personal letter. As you know, we Fatui have no shortage of resources and have a vast, robust international network, so a rushed letter would have been a very simple order. At the cost, of course, of my agents running through inclement weather and some difficulties at Nod-Krai's borders—from there, I believe mail is carried taken by sea to Yilong Wharf, where no doubt another agent would be forced to almost sprint through the marshlands and mountains and plains to Liyue Harbor.
We are still not so well liked in the land of contracts and must tread ever carefully, even compared to six years ago. I am told that I am still blamed for the Osial incident, which is not an untrue accusation. So—even a Harbinger should mind when and where to flaunt their authority.
You've always been one to espouse the merits of taking one's time. I figured this letter will reach you one way or another. And I know there is a great surplus of time, for you, to be spared.
I should wish you a happy Lantern Rite, so here is me wishing you that. I do think of the holiday at the beginning of each year. Nothing in Teyvat has been able to replicate the feeling of wonder that suffused me as I watched Xiao lanterns rise toward the sky over the Sea of Clouds. I am back to the northlands where the sea is black and cold, and have been here for some time. I met a Liyuen trader yesterday who trekked to Snezhnograd from Nod-Krai, and they told me this year, Liyue will be celebrating the White Horse Adeptus.
You may be wondering why I chose to write to you now, so many years later. It is simply because I have been thinking of you as of late. I spoke to a colleague some weeks ago, and the name Rex Lapis came up. I couldn't help but feel extremely sentimental in that moment. I remembered what it was like to have you as advisor and companion, always at my side as I toured Liyue and learned your nation's extensive history and culture. In those days, I found myself so often turning to seek your opinion or hear your counsel on various manners, whether about Rex Lapis, or Liyue's cuisine, or the weather, or the state of my hair in that humid climate. And I confess, I asked you so often about my hair in hopes that you'd ruffle it, or brush a piece of it away from my eyes as I did to yours.
When I heard Liyue would be celebrating the White Horse Adeptus, a set of anecdotes came to mind that I had not thought of in a very long time. And I found myself, for the first time in many years, wishing I could turn to find you next to me so that I might tell you this:
I learned to ride a horse at a very young age. As a child, I often rode a pony that my family kept on our farm. Berthe had a long coat and dark feathers around her hooves. That pony carried a cart around for chores and at times, took us to the village market. She was overfed and very stubborn, but we loved her. I liked sitting high and feeling that I could go where I pleased at any time, though Berthe probably could not have taken me very far. With her and a wooden sword, I felt like a great adventurer.
I did not ride for a while after my encounter with the Abyss, which, from what I've ascertained, Rosalyne did tell you about when you were both coming to an agreement with Her Majesty. (Still, I have not been able to coax one word about what said agreement was about! All these years later. Signora had to go off and die before I could ever get an answer out of her!) But I digress. When I returned from the Abyss, I could not control the new powers that resided within me. I was unruly and had gained quite the temper. And around that time, my father fell suddenly and gravely ill. We sold Berthe along with the rest of our livestock to pay for my father's treatments and doctors.
I made enough trouble that my family felt there was nothing else to be done but send me to the Fatui, with the added benefit that I would be able to send my stipend to help support my family. Even at my young age, I was a menace and a liability, always picking fights. So there were many times I was placed in the frontlines. Surely, my captains quietly hoped that it would scare some sense into me, or that I'd just die. Probably the latter.
Abysmal forces ebb and flow in the territory that stretches between Snezhnaya and Nod-Krai. Dark creatures seep from the great cracks that form in the earth, sometimes a few a time, sometimes in massive waves. In those places, low-ranking soldiers were thrown at the Abyss's forces, nothing more than bodies used as shields. There was no subterfuge on those snowy plains, no debt collectors. Like an archaic field of battle, we soldiers would line up for the charge. There were a few calvary units that still existed back then, and for two years, because I knew how to ride, and because we were always short on men, I was allowed a mount in a battalion.
As you know, a calvary always flanks or leads the charge. I knew how to ride but I'd never taken a horse into battle. The first time I charged forth, I was delirious with glee until the ranks of combatants collided, and a lance pierced my filly through her front shoulder. She instantly fell and screamed as I toppled forward.
I survived, fueled by nothing but adrenaline and recklessness and my inhuman power. But after the battle I searched for that filly. I found her alive and suffering. Beneath the dark Abyssal influence taking over me, seeing the fearful whites of her eyes made me feel very human again, and very sad, even if it was only for a brief moment. No one told me how to do it, but I knew instinctively what must be done. The how of it was inelegant. I wasn't sure where the best place was to end her quickly and painlessly. I tried to pierce her neck with a shortsword, but it did not ease her misery as soon as I would have liked. It was the week before my fifteenth birthday during that first skirmish. In total, I saw six mounts die before Pulcinella noticed me and pushed me to become an officer.
While gods and humans may choose to wage war, horses do our bidding and die for our causes. They do not engage in combat when left to their own devices, unlike me, who cannot help but seek conflict as much as I seek to draw breath. I am good at fighting. That is my purpose.
The last decade has seen a severe decline in the Fatui's reliance on working animals. The rich still do like the pageantry of their horse carriages and troikas for social occasions, and Her Majesty keeps a stable—and I do still ride for pleasure when I find the time—but we, the Fatui, have made great technological strides. A train runs much faster than a horse and will win a bout of strength every time. Last I checked, we do not employ any more cavalrymen. I do not know what Pulcinella and Pantalone did with the horses, the ones that fought alongside us.
I suppose in some ways, they are just as dispensable as myself. I know this is a gross exaggeration, but also it is not. All we do is for Her Majesty's cause.
I know this will seem offensive, my telling of this story about slaughtering horses while Liyue will be honoring one. But I have no one else to share these stories with. My peers are not good company for these tales, and I will not recount these tales to my family. My siblings prefer stories of gallant knights, not battlefield carrion. So this letter is a product of my wishful thinking—Childe, seeking out an old confidant, and Ajax, hoping that the God of Warriors might impart some sympathy toward a petty soldier's woes.
Forgive me—this letter turned out much longer than expected and is awfully morose. I won't waste the paper so I'll still send this all, but perhaps this is my sign to keep a journal. But just as I know you revel in the taking of one's time, I know you never minded the meandering and verbose. Looking over what I've written, my language feels much too formal. Pulcinella and Pantalone's influence, no doubt. You can imagine my delight at the administrative work. Both the Rooster and Regrator agree on something for once—that my experience at Liyue's Northland Bank means they can force me to do menial clerical chores.
I hope you are well. I am well as can be, aside from the clerical work. I also must mention that I do still wish to face you in battle! There are new tricks I've learned that would surprise you. The desire to face you has slowed from my arrogant impulse to a deep ache that still I nurse to this day.
Even with the false pretenses of our association back in Liyue, I believe our relationship counted for something. I do not forget that we often shared beds. I hold fond memories of Liyue, and fonder ones of my time with you yet. And if you hold fond memories of me still, then I figured this might warm you to hear from an old acquaintance. I'm taking the liberty not to address you as a god, but as Zhongli, my trusted associate and old companion.
Do not send a reply, please, as I will be busy by the time this letter reaches you. Knowing who you are and what you know—you can probably guess what has been courting my attention as of late. And I did already mention Nod-Krai throughout this letter.
I trust my colleagues at the Northland Bank give you and Master Hu less grief than I did. Please give her my warmest regards.
Again, I wish you a Happy Lantern Rite.
Childe
An officer walks briskly down the palace corridors until she finds the door of Lord Tartaglia's office. She knocks twice without announcing herself. The Harbinger opens the door, and under her mask, the officer tries to smooth her exasperated and nervous expression.
"Lord Harbinger—may I consult you on an urgent matter?"
"Come in," he says, stepping away and gesturing for the officer to enter. "Is this a message coming from another Harbinger?" he asks once the door is closed.
"No." The officer presses her lips into a thin line. "Forgive the absurdness of my message, but… I've received reports that scouts southeast of the palace grounds have identified— they say there is a fallen star, but I worry," she says, looking through the palace ceiling toward the heavens, "that this foreign object is a compromise to Snezhnaya's security."
"A fallen star?" Tartaglia bites back a laugh. "I hope someone wished upon it. Isn't that what you're supposed to do? And a falling star is not so uncommon."
"My lord. The object fell from the skies to a plateau. There is a small area of impact. We've cordoned off the zone. The star has no identifying features and seems to faintly glow. They call it a star, but I've received another conflicting report that it is not a star at all."
"And you've come calling for me to do what? To fight it?"
The officer does not share his mirth. "With all due respect, Lord Pantalone is not suited for the object's initial extraction. He'll try to sell whatever it is. Lord Pulcinella is traveling, and I shall not wake Her Majesty until the severity of this breach is confirmed."
"Fine, fine. Wait for me at the stables as I re-dress. I won't be long."
It is well past midnight by the time Tartaglia makes his way to the palace stables. He saddles his own horse as the one of the grooms prepares a mount for the officer. They do not take a lantern as they canter into the indigo night, the fur of their capes fluttering behind them.
The palace lights disappear behind them, and then there is only the white plains stretching before them and the ribbons of aurora light woven within the false sky. They ride in silence until the officer signals where they should deviate from the main path. She leads them up a slope until the black sea appears on the horizon. They stop in the center of the small plateau, where a trio of soldiers stand vigil around a small depression carved into the snow.
The officer watches as Tartaglia dismounts, tilting his head curiously at the object in question.
In a few sure steps, he approaches it and kneels to observe closer. He lifts a gloved hand—
"Lord Tartaglia, wait—"
But her warning comes too late. Tartaglia lifts the strange object in his fingers, turning it the way Lord Pantalone would appraise a gem.
A star was perhaps the most apt word her men could come up with for the object given its form and origin, but a star it is not. It is a symmetrically shaped thing, but more of an intricate artifact composed of geometric pieces slotted together. The officer watches in awe and horror as the Lord Harbinger closes his eyes, lifting the object near his face, and a soft, golden glow emanates from its core.
Tartaglia must have been holding breath. He exhales slowly, breath fogging the air. The sharp, salt-tinged breeze bears down on them, whipping their hair and the ends of their cloaks. The officer can see faint movement from the Harbinger's lips, almost as if he were reciting a few words of prayer.
The soldiers stand in silence for long minutes, shifting their weight nervously.
Tartaglia's eyes open, looking far into a place that is not here. They do not reflect the light in front of him. His dark irises swallow the star's glow.
He turns to stare at the officer. The contours of his soft expression are whet into something sharp. She shivers, and not from the cold.
"We'll return now. The object is accounted for."
Tartaglia rides with his reins in one hand as they retrace the snowy path back to the palace. The other hand cradles the fallen star close to his chest.