[Streeet light filters through the blinds, casting long shadows across the room, but Zhongli's mind remains ensnared by what happened during the evening. Every action, and every decision plays back in his mind, a ceaseless loop of calculation and introspection. Seated in the quiet of the safe house, Zhongli leans back in his chair, responsibility heavy on his shoulders.
Tartaglia's mission was a brutal success. The Fatui's mission, while possibly not the initial outcome, was a success. The young leaders of the syndicate lay wounded, and the possibility of an alliance between the two factions has dissipated. The delicate balance of power in Liyue teeters on the brink of chaos, the city's underworld a cauldron of tension and uncertainty.
Zhongli knows he must act swiftly and decisively, his phone on speaker, quietly giving orders. He's to get every contract that is on the tables, to have his own review personally so that they will be issued immediately, their terms fortified to prevent any further exploitation by the Fatui. Every clause will be scrutinized, every loophole closed. The Millelith will undergo a rigorous vetting process, too; their loyalty will need testing with a fine-tooth comb. Trust, truth, confidence, are now precious commodities that cannot be squandered.
He returns home when morning breaks, his thoughts keeping him busy. There is no room for chess games in the park when he needs to play the one his own existence created. Zhongli's introspection is interrupted by the sound of Azdaha's soft snuffling. The bulldog rests his head on Zhongli's knee after being fed and drinking water and a small walk, offering a moment of grounding amidst the turmoil. Zhongli scratches behind Azdaha's ears, the familiar routine providing a semblance of normalcy.
His phone buzzes, a text notification drawing his attention. It's from Ajax.
A smile tugs at Zhongli's lips, the simplicity of the message a stark contrast to the complexity of his thoughts. Sweet Ajax, with his unbridled enthusiasm and genuine curiosity. For a moment, Zhongli allows himself to forget the weight of his responsibilities, the chaos of the night before, and the questions that linger in his mind.
He types a reply, his fingers moving with the reply that needs no introspection. How refreshing.]
Good morning, Ajax. That sounds delightful. I'd love to visit the museum with you this weekend. Would Saturday work for you?
[He hits send, feeling a sense of calm settle over him. Perhaps this meeting will provide the rest he seeks, a moment of respite in an otherwise tumultuous time. Either way, Zhongli finds comfort in the anticipation of spending time with Ajax, a beacon of light amidst the darkness.
The papers reach his house via Xianyun, who briefs him about his new orders. A few minutes of discussion over tea, and a call to Madame Ping later—who is so concerned about her pupil, he hasn't heard her so frazzled in a long time,—and Zhongli sits at his desk, pouring over the most recent contracts to be issued.
One stray thought persists: Tartaglia. The Harbinger's actions defy easy explanation. Zhongli had anticipated a confrontation, perhaps even a battle. But instead, Tartaglia's grip had been firm yet restrained, his words a cryptic warning rather than a threat.
The memory of Tartaglia's eyes, dark and intense, lingers in Zhongli's mind. The Harbinger's lethal grace and unexpected mercy are an enigma, a puzzle that Zhongli cannot solve. Why spare him? Why issue a warning to leave, to never return? The questions gnaw at him, their answers elusive.
As he drafts the new contracts, Zhongli feels a pang of frustration. With Yanfei out of commission, the Adepti may lean too heavily on him. He's supposed to be retired, supposed to be out of these matters. Yet here he is, once again pulled into the vortex of the syndicate's affairs. Their deference to him is hindering their development as leaders. They cannot hold the syndicate with their own hands if they keep relying on Zhongli to serve as a backup.
They need to be tested, to stand on their own without relying on his guidance.
Perhaps he should consider stepping back more forcefully, creating situations that require the young leaders to navigate without his constant presence. It’s a risky thought, but one that might be necessary for their growth and the future stability of the syndicate.
—Either way.
The new contracts are drafted with meticulous care, each clause carefully worded to prevent any further breaches. The other ones that the Fatui so cleverly exploited are considered losses, and Zhongli orders business as usual. New contracts are to be accepted with no redlines. No exceptions. Zhongli works tirelessly for the following days, his attention to detail unwavering. He knows that the future of the syndicate depends on these measures, on the strength and clarity of their agreements.
The Millelith undergo a thorough review, their records scrutinized for any signs of disloyalty. Zhongli's gaze is sharp, his questions probing. He leaves no stone unturned, determined to root out any potential threats from within. The process is exhausting but necessary. Trust must be rebuilt, one step at a time.
Amidst the strategic maneuvers, Zhongli finds himself haunted by the memory of Tartaglia's touch. The Harbinger's grip had been firm, but not cruel. His warning had been delivered with an unsettling mix of menace and concern. Zhongli can't shake the feeling that there is more to Tartaglia than meets the eye, a depth that he has only begun to glimpse.
The weekend nears him. Zhongli takes a moment to breathe, to center himself. Perhaps a visit to a museum is exactly what he needed.]
no subject
Tartaglia's mission was a brutal success. The Fatui's mission, while possibly not the initial outcome, was a success. The young leaders of the syndicate lay wounded, and the possibility of an alliance between the two factions has dissipated. The delicate balance of power in Liyue teeters on the brink of chaos, the city's underworld a cauldron of tension and uncertainty.
Zhongli knows he must act swiftly and decisively, his phone on speaker, quietly giving orders. He's to get every contract that is on the tables, to have his own review personally so that they will be issued immediately, their terms fortified to prevent any further exploitation by the Fatui. Every clause will be scrutinized, every loophole closed. The Millelith will undergo a rigorous vetting process, too; their loyalty will need testing with a fine-tooth comb. Trust, truth, confidence, are now precious commodities that cannot be squandered.
He returns home when morning breaks, his thoughts keeping him busy. There is no room for chess games in the park when he needs to play the one his own existence created. Zhongli's introspection is interrupted by the sound of Azdaha's soft snuffling. The bulldog rests his head on Zhongli's knee after being fed and drinking water and a small walk, offering a moment of grounding amidst the turmoil. Zhongli scratches behind Azdaha's ears, the familiar routine providing a semblance of normalcy.
His phone buzzes, a text notification drawing his attention. It's from Ajax.
A smile tugs at Zhongli's lips, the simplicity of the message a stark contrast to the complexity of his thoughts. Sweet Ajax, with his unbridled enthusiasm and genuine curiosity. For a moment, Zhongli allows himself to forget the weight of his responsibilities, the chaos of the night before, and the questions that linger in his mind.
He types a reply, his fingers moving with the reply that needs no introspection. How refreshing.]
Good morning, Ajax. That sounds delightful. I'd love to visit the museum with you this weekend. Would Saturday work for you?
[He hits send, feeling a sense of calm settle over him. Perhaps this meeting will provide the rest he seeks, a moment of respite in an otherwise tumultuous time. Either way, Zhongli finds comfort in the anticipation of spending time with Ajax, a beacon of light amidst the darkness.
The papers reach his house via Xianyun, who briefs him about his new orders. A few minutes of discussion over tea, and a call to Madame Ping later—who is so concerned about her pupil, he hasn't heard her so frazzled in a long time,—and Zhongli sits at his desk, pouring over the most recent contracts to be issued.
One stray thought persists: Tartaglia. The Harbinger's actions defy easy explanation. Zhongli had anticipated a confrontation, perhaps even a battle. But instead, Tartaglia's grip had been firm yet restrained, his words a cryptic warning rather than a threat.
The memory of Tartaglia's eyes, dark and intense, lingers in Zhongli's mind. The Harbinger's lethal grace and unexpected mercy are an enigma, a puzzle that Zhongli cannot solve. Why spare him? Why issue a warning to leave, to never return? The questions gnaw at him, their answers elusive.
As he drafts the new contracts, Zhongli feels a pang of frustration. With Yanfei out of commission, the Adepti may lean too heavily on him. He's supposed to be retired, supposed to be out of these matters. Yet here he is, once again pulled into the vortex of the syndicate's affairs. Their deference to him is hindering their development as leaders. They cannot hold the syndicate with their own hands if they keep relying on Zhongli to serve as a backup.
They need to be tested, to stand on their own without relying on his guidance.
Perhaps he should consider stepping back more forcefully, creating situations that require the young leaders to navigate without his constant presence. It’s a risky thought, but one that might be necessary for their growth and the future stability of the syndicate.
—Either way.
The new contracts are drafted with meticulous care, each clause carefully worded to prevent any further breaches. The other ones that the Fatui so cleverly exploited are considered losses, and Zhongli orders business as usual. New contracts are to be accepted with no redlines. No exceptions. Zhongli works tirelessly for the following days, his attention to detail unwavering. He knows that the future of the syndicate depends on these measures, on the strength and clarity of their agreements.
The Millelith undergo a thorough review, their records scrutinized for any signs of disloyalty. Zhongli's gaze is sharp, his questions probing. He leaves no stone unturned, determined to root out any potential threats from within. The process is exhausting but necessary. Trust must be rebuilt, one step at a time.
Amidst the strategic maneuvers, Zhongli finds himself haunted by the memory of Tartaglia's touch. The Harbinger's grip had been firm, but not cruel. His warning had been delivered with an unsettling mix of menace and concern. Zhongli can't shake the feeling that there is more to Tartaglia than meets the eye, a depth that he has only begun to glimpse.
The weekend nears him. Zhongli takes a moment to breathe, to center himself. Perhaps a visit to a museum is exactly what he needed.]