Chapter Text
Childe's arrival in Liyue was... rough, to say the least.
For one thing, he hadn't expected the nation to be so hot. Sure, he'd done the appropriate research on the nation, enough to know that his usual Fatui uniform, with its fur jackets and long capes, would be far out of place in Liyue. Still, that didn't prepare him for the wave of heat that quite literally crashed into him when he went above deck of his ship upon his arrival in Liyue. Below deck, he'd been granted the cool shade and protection from the scorching sun. Above, he got none of that - instead, he was greeted by a stifling air that was both humid and dry all at once, as if the entire nation of Liyue was doing its best to suffocate him before he even got off the ship. Even the thin uniform he was given by the Tsaritsa herself (glory to the Tsaritsa!) wasn't enough to stave off the heat.
He also hadn't expected Liyue to be so crowded. That wasn't to say that he was used to cities being empty - Snezhnaya was a bountiful nation, with a prosperous civilization and an ever-growing population - but Liyue was a whole other story. The streets were packed and wherever he turned, he could see dozens of people bustling around, going about their business without a care in the world. That, in itself, was... foreign to him. Though Childe traveled a lot (courtesy of his fellow Harbingers sending him as far away from Zapolyarny palace - apparently, he was too much trouble for them to handle), his roots were still tied to Morepesok.
The small village seemed even more unimportant compared to the busyness of Liyue Harbor. Where Morepesok was calm, with mostly empty streets and a quiet stillness being considered the norm, Liyue Harbor was bursting with life at every corner, with people rushing back and forth. It was times like these that Childe remembered that people of most nations didn't need to worry about literally freezing to death if they stepped outside. He loved Snezhnaya, he really did, but it was hard to imagine how other nations could be so lively compared to the snowy planes and endless cold he was used to.
His first few days were spent throwing up and lying in a cold sweat in his apartment provided by Northland Bank, because apparently, being in extreme heat for someone who was used to being surrounded by snow was a health hazard that could get people sick. Bullshit. It was as if Liyue itself didn't want Childe to stay there.
Even when he recovered from his one-week period of getting one heat stroke after another, Childe still couldn't get used to the scorching heat of Liyue Harbor. No matter what he did, he could feel a thin layer of sweat building over his skin, and the sun burning him over and over again. The first time he'd spent a full two hours outside, he'd gotten so sunburnt that he couldn't touch the back of his neck without quietly seething in pain. Usually, pain was something that Childe didn't mind - welcomed, even - but this wasn't his cup of tea. Liyue wasn't his cup of tea.
Two more days into his stay, he was starting to deeply regret accepting this mission. He should've pushed it over to someone else, like maybe Sandrone. Sandrone would be able to handle Liyue's heat just fine. Hell, if it wasn't for the fact that he had a meeting with a Liyue Qixing in a day, he would've called one of the Harbingers over to deal with it instead of him. Surely there was at least someone who owed him a favor. Alas, he was a little too slow - no ship from Snezhnaya would be able to reach Liyue Harbor in time, and missing the meeting would result in an almost guaranteed failure of his mission. Ah, well. He'd just have to suck it up, forge through the mission as fast as possible, and get on his way back to Snezhnaya.
He later realized that he probably should've spent his time preparing for said meeting rather than getting sick because of too much sun. And to think that all it took to take the Tsaritsa's (long live the queen!) strongest warrior out of commission was a little bit of heat... But he could worry about that later, when he didn't have pressing matters to attend to.
His meeting with the Qixing was decent. He'd spun a high tale about how he was sent to oversee the debt collection of Northland Bank and to secure a stronger tie between Snezhnaya and Liyue's trade, which, technically, wasn't a lie. To be fair, he was sent to make sure that Northland Bank, along with the other strands of Snezhnayan businesses, were all running smoothly in Liyue. He just had a separate mission that he had to deal with, too.
The following days were filled with similar meetings, though these ones were of less pressure - mostly small business meetings between Northland Bank's partners. He had to admit, it was a lot more challenging than he'd thought it would be, to navigate the streets of Liyue Harbor and still get to his meetings on time. There were just so many people everywhere, and the streets piled on top of one another. Hell, there was even a second floor to the streets, one made of intricate paths and bridges that he still couldn't navigate after the - what, one week? Two weeks?- that he'd spent in Liyue Harbor.
One particularly troublesome meeting was scheduled to be in the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor - Ekaterina herself had scheduled this one, which would've been perfectly fine, if it weren't for the fact that Childe had absolutely no clue where in the Tsaritsa's name (may her reign last long!) that was. He'd already been wandering the streets for far too long, and although he'd left his hotel room ahead of time, he was starting to get worried that he'd be late. What made it worse was that, today of all days, the streets were painfully empty. The usual crowds of people were nowhere in sight, and only a few kids ran around, playing their usual games.
He turned a corner in hopes of finding someone he could ask when his eyes landed on a slender man talking to some merchant. Surely someone who looked so refined would have to know where the funeral parlor was, right? As fast as he could without drawing attention to himself, he made his way to where the man stood. He seemed to be engaged in some intense conversation with the merchant.
"-truly is an exquisite example of Fontaine craftsmanship," he heard the man say as he got closer. "Such intricate details on a fountain pen as delicate as this only goes to show how far the technology of this era has advanced."
"Sir, please," the merchant huffed out in exasperation, "if you aren't planning o-"
"Excuse me!" Childe cut in as he slowed to a more socially-acceptable walking speed. "Would you happen to know where the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor is?"
The man's attention turned to him, piercing amber eyes locking onto his own. Huh, interesting. Childe was no expert, but from what he'd seen, the majority of Liyue's eyes were of different shades of brown.
"But of course," the man replied, his voice deep, words smooth. "If you so wish, I could escort you to the parlor myself."
It took all of Childe's self control not to sigh in relief. "Oh, that'd be perfect. You see, I'm just in a rush and-"
"Not so fast," came the barking voice of the merchant that Childe had all but forgotten about. "This gentleman here has yet to pay for his purchase."
A quick glance at his watch was enough to tell Childe that he really didn't have time to deal with this. He pulled a paper out of his pocket and grabbed the fountain pen from the man's hand, scrawling a quick note onto it before passing it to the merchant.
"Direct the fee to Northland Bank and give the secretary that note. I trust you won't have any issues." Childe pointedly decided to ignore the bewildered look that both the man and the merchant were giving him, instead gently giving the pen back to the man. "If you may, I'm sort of in a rush."
That seemed to snap the man out of his trance. "Ah, yes. Of course. Follow me." They walked through the streets in silence, neither one knowing quite what to say. "I must thank you," the man finally said, "for covering the fee of that fountain pen."
What, so he wasn't going to offer to pay Childe back? "Don't worry about it," Childe replied, choosing to not voice his thoughts. "I'm just in a rush. See, I've got this meeting at the funeral parlor, and if I'm late, my boss will murder me."
For a second, the man stopped in his tracks, an unreadable expression on his face, before he kept going as if nothing had happened. "Oh? Would you happen to be Lord Tartaglia, then?"
How did he- he'd never mentioned his name, had he? "That would be me," he said, donning the mask of a professional. Was this man an enemy of his, then? Or perhaps... He dug into his pocket once more, pulling out the note that Ekaterina had given him with the details about the meeting. "Are you-" he squinted at the paper, trying to figure out how to pronounce the letters "- Wangsheng Funeral Parlor director Hu Tao, then?"
The corner of the man's lips curled upwards ever-so-slightly into a small smile. "That would be my boss. She is, ah, quite eccentric. I do, however, work at the parlor as the consultant. You may call me Zhongli."
Oh. Well that was embarrassing. "Right. So, Mister Zhongli." The Liyuan name felt strange on his lips. "Any tips on how to get on your boss's good side?"
Mister Zhongli tapped a finger to his chin in thought before turning to Childe. "A certain way to please her would be to buy a coffin of your own."
Childe stared at him. Mister Zhongli stared back, expression stony.
"That was a joke, Lord Tartaglia."
"Oh. Right." Did everybody in Liyue have such a twisted sense of humor or was it just this man?
"Perhaps you could entertain her with a joke or two. She's rather fond of those."
More silence as they walked, though it was neither awkward nor pleasant. Of course it was just Childe's luck to ask such an odd individual for help. They came to a stop in front of a large building, one that Childe was certain that he'd passed by at least four times in his desperate attempt to find the parlor on his own. For several seconds, they both stood there, this time the silence definitely awkward.
"Right. Well, thank you for helping me, Mister Zhongli. Enjoy that pen of yours," Childe said, already turning to the entrance of the building when a light touch to his wrist stopped him in his tracks. He stared down to where the consultant's fingers touched his skin, irritated. Who was this funeral parlor consultant to touch him, the Tsaritsa's (bless her!) might Harbinger? Almost as quickly as the touch appeared, it left him, though Childe continued to stare at the man.
"I... apologize for that," Mister Zhongli said, his voice just as monotone as before. "That was out of turn for me. I was merely wondering if you would be interested in meeting for dinner sometime soon. I wish to repay you for the kindness of paying for me earlier."
Before he could think about it, Childe nodded along. "Sure. I'm at Northland Bank most of the time. If you need me, just ask to see Lord Tartaglia. Say it's for a personal matter, and the secretary should lead you through."
Mister Zhongli responded with a nod before turning on his heel and heading back to the streets, hands clasped behind his back, strolling as if he had all the time in the world and effectively leaving Childe standing there in confusion. What the fuck? Didn't he, like, work here? Shouldn't he be working instead of going for lengthy walks and chatting with merchants? Oh, whatever. It wasn't Childe's problem anyway.
He hesitated at the door of the funeral parlor, debating whether or not to knock, but decided to just step inside. The inside of the parlor was... underwhelming, to say the least. From Mister Zhongli's description of this Director Hu Tao, he'd expected there to be coffins and blood-shaped confetti everywhere, but he was met with a typical front desk and shelves of books that he decided he'd rather not inspect. Ahead of him, a long hallway lead to several doors.
"Hello?" He called out when nothing showed sign of life. "Is this the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor?"
"Hi!"
The voice came from behind him, and Tartaglia whirled around, subconsciously drawing the power from his vision to manifest into two blades of hydro just to see a short young woman with a comically large hat on her head. Her eyes were wide and curious, and for a second, Tartaglia thought he saw a faint red shadow floating around her, almost as if it were a ghost. Her eyes narrowed at him before she broke out into another wide grin.
"Huh, a ginger with a hydro vision and strange clothing." Oh, right, he still had his hydro blades summoned. Tartaglia let go of his hold on them, though he remained on edge as she kept talking. "You're Tartaglia, then?"
"Lord Tartaglia," he corrected, donning the cold mask of the Tsaritsa's (glory to her!) loyal diplomat. "I assume you're Director Hu Tao?"
"That's right," she grinned, waving him to the hallway. "So, Fatui boy-
"Lord Tartaglia."
"-did you come here to find yourself a coffin?"
Okay, maybe it was just a common trend for Liyue's funeral parlor workers to be the odd ones of the pack. It was only thanks to years of Fatui training that he managed to maintain that cold mask of his. "I'll have to disappoint you there, my apologies, though I assure you that when the time comes, I'll take only your best product. I am here to discuss the deal between Northland Bank and the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor."
Director Hu Tao had the audacity to pout. "Hm. You're even worse than Zhongli. At least he lets me try out different coffins on him."
Tartaglia did not need to know that. Childe, however, found it hard to believe. Sure, his impression of Mister Zhongli wasn't a particularly accurate one, and he'd only known the man for a total of five minutes, but he really couldn't imagine a man as put-together as him letting this - what was she, a child? A teenager? She couldn't be that old - put him in a coffin for fun.
"Come, come," she waved again, hurrying him into one of the rooms. "Matters to discuss, deals to make."
Right. Childe could wonder about whether or not Mister Zhongli spent his time in coffins later. Tartaglia followed Director Hu Tao, settling onto a chair opposite of where she sat. From the corner of her desk, she pulled a stack of paper, and - oh, wow, was she actually going to take this meeting seriously? Somehow, Tartaglia found that surprising.
They managed to get through the meeting without any more problems, though it felt like it was dragged out for far longer than it should have. After what felt like forever, they managed to settle on a deal that would benefit both the bank and the parlor, and as a special favor, Tartaglia promised to direct any... accidents he had while debt collecting to Director Hu Tao. She, in turn, offered a fifty percent discount on his own coffin, though Tartaglia waved her off, saying that he had more money than he cared for and something as important as his coffin wouldn't be half-assed.
With the meeting out of the way, Childe had the rest of the day to himself - apparently, Ekaterina (was that her name?) had thought the meeting with Director Hu Tao would take much longer than it actually did, and had cleared his schedule for the sake of not forcing him to rush through it. He wandered the streets of Liyue for a bit, trying to commit them to memory as best as he could. After all, he was stationed here for an indefinite amount of time. It was only for the best that he memorized the place.
Eventually, he found his way back to Northland Bank, where Ekaterina was already expectantly waiting for him. Though her Fatui mask was pulled over her face, her lips were tugged into a frown. In her hands was the same note that he'd given to that merchant before, evidently the point of her disappointment, and Tartaglia slid on the mask of the icy diplomat once more.
"Is there a problem?" He asked, not bothering with a 'hello'. Instead, he simply marched past other workers to where Ekaterina stood behind the reception desk.
"Oh, not at all, Lord Tartaglia," she replied, equally calm. So at least the Fatui training was still as firm as it was before. Good. "There has, however, been a rather suspicious purchase from your account this morning. Though I am not one to question someone as mighty as a Harbinger-" damn, she had some courage to use that tone on him, "-but I do find it rather strange for someone of your status to spend one hundred thousand mora on a fountain pen."
One hundred thousand? Did he hear that correctly? That Mister Zhongli had wanted to buy a fountain pen for one hundred thousand mora? And Tartaglia had paid for it? Either Liyue's prices were concerningly high, or Mister Zhongli simply had a very expensive taste.
"Yes, that would be correct," Tartaglia said, his voice smooth. "The pen was rather fascinating with it's craftsmanship, made by perhaps some of the best workers in Fontaine."
The disbelief in Ekaterina's face was more than evident. "I see. I apologize for the mistake on my part, then, Lord Tartaglia. However, there is another matter concerning you that I wished to speak of. A man stopped by earlier by the name of Zhongli and asked me to relay a message; 'I frequent Wanmin Restaurant at around seven on most evenings. If you wish to join me, I shall await your arrival.' Is this Mister Zhongli a business associate from the funeral parlor?"
"Yes, to some extent," Tartaglia replied after a moment of hesitation. Technically, not a lie - after all, Mister Zhongli did work at the funeral parlor.
Ekaterina gave him a nod, returning to that professional exterior that the Fatui were so proud of. "Very well. If need be, I shall arrange meetings for you two in the future to uphold the relationship between Northland Bank and Wangsheng Funeral Parlor."
"That would be optimal," Tartaglia agreed, though he'd long since stopped paying attention. "My apologies, but I must get going. I have, ah, business matters to attend to."
He, as a matter of fact, did not have business matter to attend to, but there was no way in hell that he'd be admitting that one, he was (secretly) pleasantly surprised that Mister Zhongli had followed through on his offer, and two, that he had no clue how to get to Wanmin Restaurant and planned to wander Liyue's streets until he got to it.
It took him over half an hour to find the restaurant, which was something he wasn't proud of in the slightest. In the end, he'd simply given up and asked some random kid that was passing by about where it was, which was by far the darkest moment of his life. Never again would he stoop so low as asking a child for directions, even if he was in an unfamiliar city.
He stepped into the restaurant, glancing around the tables in an attempt to spot the familiar figure of Mister Zhongli. He eventually saw him, sitting at a table near the back of the restaurant, and Childe rushed to the spot, sighing in relief when the bustle of the restaurant faded away ever-so-slightly. Childe raised his hand in greeting once he caught Mister Zhongli's eye, who, in turn, smiled and lowered his cup of tea.
"Lord Tartaglia," he nodded, motioning for Childe to sit across from him. "I must say, I am rather surprised to see you wished to join me."
"Of course, Mister Zhongli," Childe replied with a plastered on smile, his mind racing.
The funeral consultant was surprised? Why? Had he really seemed that unapproachable? That wouldn't do. The Tsaritsa (all hail!) had told him it was crucial that he blend in for this mission, that he gain the trust of Liyue's people. Perhaps he should drop that cold act of Tartaglia - he couldn't exactly befriend all too many people when he acted as if he had a stick shoved up his ass at all times. (He'd learned to act like that after watching Scaramouche for a bit. That little guy couldn't even take a joke, much less make a friend.)
Well, he had to start somewhere, didn't he? Might as well start here. (And no, it wasn't because he wanted to see how things played out with this strange consultant.) "I assure you, Mister Zhongli, I am elated that you offered me the chance to dine with you. And please, Lord Tartaglia is hardly appropriate of a name to call an acquaintance. Just Mister Childe is fine."
Mister Zhongli raised an eyebrow in surprise at that, though it smoothed out into a calm expression before Childe could question it. He motioned for a nearby server to bring another teacup, pouring Childe a steaming cup of it before carefully passing it over. Mister Zhongli's smile, somehow, was warmer than the cup.
"Well then, Mister Childe," he said, voice deep as he raised his cup to his lips, "let us drink to a long friendship."