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It is not a bad thing that Zhongli finds himself at loose ends after Osial is dealt with. His work for the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor is as a consultant on the sending-off of adepti. All of those remaining are known to him, and while not all are his friends, they are all familiar. He cannot regret that no more of them have passed.
Hu Tao pays him for his consultation in such matters, however, not as a regular employee. Since the Rite of Parting, there's been a few occasions where a rich and respected family has insisted upon having the knowledgeable Zhongli on hand, but that's far from regular work. And living as if he were a mortal, in a body without a Gnosis to support it, presents the issue of regular expenses.
Never before has he had to purchase shelter, or clothing, or food, except on impulse. Going along with the traveller to make purchases for the Rite had seemed sufficient training in spending at the time. Now, though, he regrets not having invested in a more thorough education. The Mora seems to slip from his hands as soon as Hu Tao gives it to him. And as for other ways of earning money....
Well. He does have his pride. Paimon might have had a clever idea about setting Mora aside for himself ahead of time, but he doesn't begrudge his own failure to do so. It appeals to him to earn his money honestly, with his own hands and his own skills. He only wishes that he could actually seem to accomplish that.
***
The easiest jobs to get in Liyue Harbor are those that involve heavy labor, requiring no deep scholarly knowledge. Although he may have centuries of wisdom, there is a certain nobility in working with his hands that appeals to him. He would like to try something in which he has no innate advantages.
Not until he's signed on as a dockworker does he realize how sorely he'd underestimated those who do this work. It is skilled labor, even if those skills involve little in the way of pen and paper. And for all his detailed education, they are skills he has never acquired.
"Left! Your other left! And tilt it up some or it's going to knock the rest of the stack over! Up- the other end, up- No, not that far up, are you blind?"
All the shouting makes Zhongli even more stiff and awkward, and he watches in quiet dismay as the pile of planks he'd been trying to load more on top of goes sliding off the dock and into the sea.
"You!" The foreman points down at him from two levels above, his face red with rage. "My office, now!"
Zhongli's shoulders don't shrink at the shout, for he has more dignity than that. He doesn't, however, try to meet the eyes of any of the grumbling workers around him as he heads up the stairs. He knows how much trouble he's made for them. As he leaves, they're already rigging ropes to haul the water-soaked planks back up from the bottom of the harbor.
It takes a minute to get all the way up the several sets of stairs to the foreman's office, dodging wide around piles and pallets of goods and other workers carrying their own loads. As Zhongli approaches, he catches sight of a flicker of movement and glances that way. All he sees is a tail of pale blue hair, vanishing around a corner.
When he steps inside, the foreman hastily plucks a bag off the desk. He doesn't shove it away quite fast enough, though, for Zhongli to miss the sigil of the Liyue Qixing embroidered on the cloth. Pretending to ignore it, he stands straight and tall in front of the foreman, levelly meeting his eyes.
"I apologize for my error," he says. "And for my errors earlier today."
"Ah, well," the foreman grunts. He's still red in the face, and he struggles to shrug. "You did Rex Lapis right, I hear, and it's not like you aren't working hard. I'll give you a few more chances to figure it out. No one's perfect on their first day."
Zhongli thinks of the bag, and his shoulders stiffen. "No. I am aware of how much I've cost you. I am grateful for your patience, but I am not suited for this work."
The Fontaine timber might recover, though it will never sell as well after seawater has swelled it, but he knows that the golden salt and the Sumeru silk didn't at all survive their dousing. Zhongli has no idea what the individual items might cost, but he knows that they're luxuries, every one. The Qixing's coffers couldn't survive his remaining at this station, even if his pride was willing to endure that insult.
Despite the presumed payoff, the foreman is visibly relieved by Zhongli's acceptance of the situation. He stands and comes around the desk to clap him heavily on the shoulder. "You talk like you're educated. You can find better work than this. I've heard the harbor authority's looking for new clerks."
Zhongli sighs, then bows respectfully to the foreman. "Thank you for that information. I'll look into it."
***
Clerking isn't high-status work, but at least he has the necessary skills. He can read and write, not just the modern script currently used by the Liyue Harbor bureaucracy but plenty of older ones as well, and he's mastered at least some of each language of every people who have ever traded with Liyue. His understanding of contracts and official forms eclipses that of any the other junior clerks he's been placed among, and his handwriting is exquisite.
He truly had not expected those last two to be a problem.
"You're still too slow, Zhongli," the head clerk says, looking at the stack of forms he presents to her at the third day. It is larger than yesterday's, which in turn is larger than that of the day before, because this is the third time she's made this complaint, and Zhongli is doing his best to hurry along. "These are precise, yes, beautifully written, yes, but there is a third requirement to be a clerk, and that is speed. Not to mention that you have, once again, revised the wording of half of these."
"That form is poorly written," Zhongli argues. "Left as it is, it will present a problem for the Liyue Qixing before long. Someone will dispute it in court, and it will be an embarrassing complication for them."
He knows that she won't listen, any more than she had the last two times he'd made this complaint, but it offends his sensibilities to to see such a vague, badly drawn-up document. This one is of particular importance, too. He waits for her to tell him, yet again, that that is the Liyue Qixing's problem, and not the concern of a lowly junior clerk.
Unexpectedly, she says, instead, "And I have submitted the complaint to my superiors. The secretary of the Qixing herself came to my office this morning to look at both the original form and your revisions to it. If the Tianquan's secretaries agree with you, then it will be re-issued with your corrections."
"Ah," Zhongli says. "Thank you for taking my concerns seriously."
He should be pleasantly surprised by that, but instead he can't help but be suspicious. She is right, in one respect: this was the Qixing's concern, not his own. For his revisions to have gone so far, so quickly, someone in that chain must have known that he was more than a lowly clerk.
She just nods. "In the meantime, however, we must treat it as it is written. You cannot correct it while filling it out, and slow down already unacceptably slow work. I am willing to give new clerks time to adapt to the pace of their duties, but...."
He is not accustomed to moving quickly through documents, filling them out by rote. For centuries, he has prided himself on reading carefully through everything he signs, assessing and adjusting the wording to suit both his needs and those of whoever else the document may apply to. All those long years of care do not lend themselves to careless haste.
"I am approaching the limits of that time, I take it," Zhongli says.
"Certainly not," the head clerk says, so quickly that Zhongli knows it's a lie. "All I ask is that you continue to work to improve. I have noticed your efforts."
Any dregs of triumph regarding the form fades away into the weight of unhappy certainty in his stomach. He remembers the blue tail of hair he'd spotted the other day, when the dock foreman had been equally forgiving. Ganyu's visit to this woman this morning surely was not only to do with the incorrect wording of a minor and insignificant form.
"That is gracious of you," he says, and bows slightly to the head clerk. "But I think it is better for both of us if I offer you my resignation. I do not wish to make your own work more difficult."
The head clerk looks so relieved that he knows his guess was right. The more so when she echoes his bow, and more deeply. "You are an honest man, and a knowledgeable one. Surely there is work out there that will make better use of your knowledge. I'm sure many merchants would be grateful for your input."
Zhongli nods. "I will consider that. Thank you for your suggestion."
***
"I am sure your skill with contracts is considerable," the manager of the Feiyun Commerce Guild says, waiting for a natural pause in his self-description to cut Zhongli off. "Unfortunately, we are well-supplied with negotiators, and currently have no need for more of them. What I am currently need of is buyers and consultants with strong knowledge of the present market. To make a profit, I must know what goods will sell before I invest in them."
Zhongli considers, for just a moment, offering himself as a buyer instead. But he knows that his own eye is purely for quality. He is not equipped to make the financial judgements involved in buying for a large guild, determining whether the product will make the profit required to justify the expense of obtaining, transporting, and perhaps refining it. Costing the Fatui an excess was entertaining. Doing the same to a respected organization of Liyue is not.
So he sighs, rises from his seat, and gives the man a polite bow. "Then I must apologize for wasting your time."
"It was not a waste," the Guild Manager says, rising as well and answering with a deeper bow. The depth of it makes Zhongli's attention sharpen on him. "I am not saying that I am unwilling to employ you, only that I cannot in the role for which you applied. I am the patron of many artists and poets. You seem to be a well-educated man, and it occurs to me that you may have the knowledge to produce historical treatises that would be of interest to many people."
A wary prickle of unease goes down Zhongli's spine. The Commerce Guild works closely with the Qixing, after all. While he had given up the truth of his identity to only a select few, he had also entrusted them with the privilege of choosing who to share it with. It had been clear that Ganyu had implied to the foreman at the docks and the head clerk at the harbor authority that he was of a person of importance, even though she had not told them his true identity. What more might she have shared with a man who is so close to her superiors?
"In other words, a sinecure," he says evenly, meeting the man's eyes.
The General Manager bows his head again, his gaze sliding away. "Not at all. I provide a stipend to all the scholars and artists I support, and this would be no different. It brings prestige to the Commerce Guild to provide such patronage."
"I thank you for your offer," Zhongli says. "But I do not wish to receive a stipend simply for the knowledge I have acquired."
For the centuries he has lived, he means. For his previous status as Morax. Because of the Qixing's gratitude. Liyue Harbor owes him no debt, and he does not care to be indebted.
"I understand," the General Manager says, so subdued at Zhongli's even-toned refusal that Zhongli becomes even more certain the man knows at least something of who he is. Zhongli had deliberately chosen not to be prepossessing on mere physical grounds, in this form he intends to dwell within. The man is cowed by some other power. "Still, my liege, consider it. The offer will remain open."
"I will keep it in mind," Zhongli says, and, with another bow, leaves the chamber behind.
***
Zhongli exits the interview with his shoulders stiff, carefully not looking about for any sign of Ganyu's quiet presence. As he reaches the stairs leading down from Yujing Terrace, though, he pauses. There's a table set up here, with a teapot and several cups upon it, and an old woman standing near. While preparing for the Rite of Parting, he had always made sure to slip past her with his head turned away. But there's no more need for caution now.
Madame Ping smiles at the sight of him. Her face is already cheerful, smile-lines carved into it, but it's brightened even more by the warmth of her expression. Even in his current temper, Zhongli can't keep himself from smiling back.
"Good day, my liege," she says, stepping back and gesturing to the table. "Will you take tea with me?"
"Of course, madam," Zhongli says, and bows to her, more elaborately than he had to the Guild Manager, before approaching to take the seat that she offers.
Sitting down across from him, she starts up the little brazier under the teapot and reaches for the wooden case that holds her many teas. "Is there a particular flavor that you'd like?"
He'd meant to bring her a fine tea to drink together, Zhongli remembers, and feels a flush of shame. Such quality is well beyond his means at the moment. "I have always liked the smoked teas."
Madam Ping knows this, of course. But her tea-table is out here in public, and no doubt she is performing for the passers-by, carrying out the familiar steps of the ritual.
"I have several of those. Very good quality, too. I think... this one will be to your taste. Very dark, with a strong metallic flavor." She spoons the tea into the pot, and as she settles the lid back on, he sees a flare of green light from within. Her smile grows mischievous. "Not many people would enjoy that, but I remember catching you with a coin in your mouth more than once."
The sound of people on the steps and terrace has fallen away, as if a curtain has been drawn around them. Though few people had looked at the tea-table as they passed it, before, now no eyes fall upon it at all. Anyone positioned to walk through it diverts around without seeming to realize they've changed course.
"That does sound like a pleasant flavor," Zhongli says. "I thank you for preparing it for me."
"A certain traveler did mention that you might be coming along for tea, sooner or later. And since I've recently had the cobwebs cleared out of my storage, I rummaged around to find something suitable."
"I have been remiss in not coming to you sooner," Zhongli admits. "I meant to bring you something as a gift, but I'm afraid that... I haven't quite been able to afford it."
"So I've heard," Madame Ping says, and then smiles at his raised eyebrow. "There are many reasons to drink tea with people on the Terrace, and I won't say that gossip isn't one of them. Ganyu stops by every morning. She's a sweet girl, and you know how fond I was of her parents."
Zhongli shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "I'm sure her intentions are good, but I cannot appreciate having the Qixing so invested in my troubles finding employment. It seems shameful. Their own god of commerce, in the land that I have helped them make wealthy, unable to support myself without assistance from the highest powers of the government."
"Hmmm," Madame Ping says, breathing in the steam from her cup. "Do take in the aroma of the tea before you drink. You lose half the pleasure of it if you focus on flavor alone."
Frustrated as he is by the non-response, Zhongli obeys her instructions. The tea does smell wonderful, the rich smoky odor of the leaves rising from it, the steam carrying it warm into his nose. He closes his eyes to better absorb the scent.
When he opens them, Madame Ping is smiling at him. She raises her cup and sips, slowly, and Zhongli mirrors her. The tea has the same smokiness as the steam, even richer and darker, but it's overlaid by the metallic overtones that she spoke of, like a golden lacquer over fine dark wood. He understands why she had him take in the aroma first, for without it, the metallic flavor might have overwhelmed the smoky subtleties. Having the scent lingering in his nostrils allows him to make them out even through the strong metal taste.
He drinks deeply before setting his cup down again. Despite the rich tea, he can't be distracted from his present situation.
"I'll grant that this does make me certain it was the right thing to step down, and leave Liyue in the hands of the Qixing. I am not quite the fossil that Keqing considers me, perhaps, but I have a certain feeling of being a living relic. It is difficult to adapt to the life of a mortal. You have the advantage of me at it."
"Not at all. I still have all the powers of an adepti, including my own domain." She runs a finger over the curving spout of the teapot and smiles at it like at an old friend. "If I need to rest, and you know how rarely I do, I simply pack up all my things, take this someplace it can sit unnoticed, and take shelter there. As for food, enough people will pay me to sit and have some tea and let me listen to their thoughts that I can indulge myself whenever I wish."
"I presume most of that money goes back to the tea," Zhongli says, with a smile that she matches in agreement. "And yet, you do at least have a business sufficient to meet your needs. As it stands, it seems I can only earn stipends and sinecures."
"Hmmm," Madame Ping says again, and takes another sip of her tea. Zhongli, perforce, does as well. She turns slightly to look out at the stairs coming up to the Terrace. "You know, I see people go up and down those stairs every day of their lives. And there's certain patterns that repeat. Parents walk with children, when those children are young, and hold their hands or help them up when they stumble on the steps. And then years later, when those children have matured and grown strong, they help their parents navigate the steps in turn. If, that is, their parents raise them well. Do you see?"
She gestures with her teacup, indicating two figures coming up the stairs. The resemblance between them is so obvious that they couldn't be mistaken as anything other than family. The older woman is as aged in reality as Madame Ping looks, bent low and gray-haired over her cane. Her daughter has a hand under her mother's elbow, supporting her as she makes her way up the last step. Zhongli feels his face heat.
"I am not quite that decrepit."
"No, not quite," Madame Ping says, making a point of raking her gaze over him in a way that stifles any offense he might have taken, and makes him blush even harder to boot. "Though since I cast off my vanity, I've learned there's no shame in looking like a grandmother. What I'm saying is that you did raise your people to maturity, and you raised them well. It's only natural for them to be grateful, and to wish to support you as loyal children do."
That puts a hard knot in Zhongli's chest, tightening his throat. He breathes carefully through it. The specific word is one he prefers to avoid, for has always seemed condescending to call his people, whom he has seen grow and fight and die for him, mere children. And yet the metaphor has floated through his mind more than once over the past few months, as he prepared to divest himself of his authority. In leaving Liyue to the Qixing, he is passing on to them an inheritance.
"It is difficult for me to accept care from those whom I have always cared for," he says at last, speaking slowly, unsure of exactly how to put the shame of it into words.
"That is difficult for everyone. It's one of the trials of getting old," Madame Ping says, smiling knowingly, as if she hadn't chosen her present appearance of her own free will. "But you must trust them to carry their own burdens. If they've chosen you as one of those burdens, it will look better to accept that with grace. You will always represent something to them, and it will give them confidence to be able to take up your weight, along with that which you have set down."
"And if I do not wish to be carried?"
"Then you have not truly put the weight down, yet."
She drains her cup and pours herself more, looking questioningly at Zhongli. He hastily finishes his own and holds it out for a top-up. For a moment they both drink in silence.
Zhongli takes a deep breath. He can feel the knot in his chest tighten when he does that, then loosen, slowly, as he breathes back out. "I would still like to earn my own living. My goal was to live as a mortal, not to lounge about as a retired god."
"Then continue striving for that. But don't let pride goad you into tossing a helping hand away. We both know what kind of grief that can lead to."
Her eyes are suddenly, unfathomably sad, oceans of sorrow, a sadness he could fall into and drown in. There were so many adepti once, Zhongli thinks. He has walked so many generations of Hu Tao's ancestors through the Rite of Parting. Although he is not quite the same as them, he has long since made himself one of them, in a way. And he knows that pride has done for more than a few of them over the years.
Not that he intends to die. Even in this body, he doubts he could actually starve to death. All the same....
"I suppose that when I look again for work, I should dedicate myself to learning it, instead of quitting the moment I feel I'm being patronized."
"Ah, well." Madame Ping smiles. "I had tea with Hu Tao yesterday. She was telling me that she's been thinking of paying you to teach regular classes to her undertakers, so that they can offer some of the prestige that your name brings even for clients who can't afford your fees. She described the whole scheme to me, and I took from it that she thinks you've been living on an inheritance that ran out. There is a kind heart under all that mischief, you know."
"There is," Zhongli admits grudgingly. Regular classes would mean a regular income, to support regular expenses. And being able to tell even her humblest clients that their undertakers were trained by her most famous consultant might make some prouder of the little they can afford.
He can feel the knot in his chest loosening further. He has known Hu Tao since childhood, rather than having met her as a grown woman as he did Ganyu. And he has actually known her in person, not watched from afar as he did Ninguang or Keqing. It burns less, if she is the one he accepts such kindness from. Perhaps Madame Ping's metaphor has more merit than he thought.
"She can be an irritating person to work with, and I imagine she'd be more so on a daily basis... but she does take her responsibilities seriously. I have worked with more infuriating people."
"Indeed," Madame Ping says, the gleam of memory in her eye. "But you and I have outlasted all of those annoyances. It's time for both of us to enjoy our retirement, now that we can afford to do so."
"It is," Zhongli says. The last of the knot comes apart as he says it, the tension escaping with the words.
Beaming approvingly at him, Madame Ping pours them both more tea. Zhongli drinks deep, letting the warmth of it steep through him, savoring the mingled flavors. This, the tea and the company, is also a kindness. It harms no one to accept it, not even himself. And Madame Ping is right. It is good that he has cultivated such a people that they are willing to support their elders along with themselves.
This is his land and his people. His pride should be in them, not in his own self-sufficiency. The taste of smoke and gold on his tongue, Zhongli looks past the edge of the Terrace, out over the city below. He sees a flash of blue and red, a far-away horned figure leaping from roof to roof; beyond her, he sees the flapping banner of a funeral procession, leading a line of solemn figures through the streets. No, there is no shame in being supported by his people, who have so nobly outgrown him.