[ Oblivious to Childe's inner turmoil (a fact that would be true even if Zhongli did retain his memories), Zhongli reaches for the first bottle - the silkflower oil from Liyue. With a audible pop of the cap opening, he pours some liberally into his palm, rubbing his hands together to warm the oil to a pleasant temperature.

He starts at the junction of neck and shoulder, those stiff portions of muscle that built up through either over exertion through battle or Childe's hunched posture over his paperwork. Carefully he kneads at the skin there, starting slow as his hands work ever so slightly lower and lower until they press in the dip between Childe's shoulderblades. The motions are measured and rhythmic, already adding to the growing peace and relaxation that is slowly warming Zhongli even more than the heated bath is. ]

My choice?

[ Zhongli does not question why he should not be allowed out for the rest of the day. Childe would know best how to handle the climate and culture of Snezhnaya, so he would defer to his judgement.

The promise of excitement tomorrow also is quite effective as a distraction. ]

I wish to eat your favorite dish prepared in the way you think is most authentic to your culture.

You told me so much of the warm and filling foods of your homeland. It would be a shame not to try them now that you are here to help me experience them properly.