"Hello—Miss Wanyan of Yinyuan Hall, correct? You may call me Yelan."
" …May I ask your business?"
"It concerns Bosacius—that sinful immortal."
Hearing the name Bosacius, Wanyan paused.
She lifted her head slightly; her face looked a little pale. She coughed softly, exhaled, forced a smile.
"I'd like to learn a few things from you."
The speaker was a tall young woman: deep-blue short hair tipped faint violet; eyes bright azure. A snow-white mink-fur coat draped her shoulders; twin coat-tails fell along long, rounded thighs, above tight boots.
She frowned lightly at Wanyan's condition, head tilted.
Yelan—attached to Liyue's Ministry of Civil Affairs, answering directly to the Tianquan.
"I know nothing," Wanyan shook her head.
She actually knew; she longed to speak the truth—but she could not. She must not break the contract again.
"Yet I hear you lately—no, all along," Yelan's brow rose slightly, "have been digging into that sinful immortal."
Sinful immortal… The two words stabbed Wanyan's heart like needles.
"A few days ago you even went to Sal Terrae, didn't you?"
Her movements had been traced.
Who on earth is this woman? What does she intend? Why probe Bosacius?
"That is… invasion of privacy."
She wished to speak out; then her heart would not endure such torment—but she had vowed to bear it forever. It was both her contract and her atonement.
Wanyan exhaled, fixed Yelan's eyes, and summoned courage:
"I have no duty to tell you. What is your aim? Did the General Affairs Office send you?"
…Yelan hadn't expected the frail girl to be so stubborn.
"No need to tense up," she said calmly. "I hold no malice—and I'm not here as Liyue's official. I'm asking privately."
"Privately?"
Wanyan grew curious.
"My great-great-grandfather," Yelan said softly, "left an heirloom… perhaps connected to Bosacius.
"Bosacius' sin," she said earnestly, "smells of something fishy."
"Great-great-grandfather?" Wanyan was more surprised.
"Interesting case, isn't it?"
"But… the history books—" Wanyan's words broke off.
"I never trust history. I trust only my own eyes."
Yelan smiled; her eyes were as clear—and sly—as a cat roaming an alley.
She loved secrets and puzzles, never believing "authority" or hand-me-down "stories." Otherwise she could not have voiced "Bosacius' death is fishy."
Wanyan stared blankly. She lowered her head, bit her lip. "…I truly know nothing."
"I see."
Wanyan was bad at lying; Yelan, veteran in such matters, saw the concealment at once—but she pressed no further.
As she'd said, this was a request, not an interrogation. Not an official mission—personal motive only; since Wanyan refused, Yelan would not coerce.
Well enough; not fruitless.
With a faint smile, Yelan judged from Wanyan's look that Bosacius' death indeed hid a secret.
"Then farewell."
Swift by habit, she clapped her hands, rose, headed for the alley mouth.
Dusk reddened the walls with concentric halos; Yelan followed the glow outward when Wanyan's slightly trembling voice came:
"You'll keep digging?"
"Of course." Yelan shrugged; she never dropped a mystery halfway.
"Where… will you look?"
The Chasm.
Yelan would head there—her great-grandfather had fled from its depths. She had a hunch—of the law-enforcer sort—that the Chasm's abyss buried the truth no one imagined.
"That's secret," Yelan said without turning. "But rest assured—one way or another, I will learn it."
"When you do, what then?" Wanyan asked.
"Me?" Yelan replied lightly. "Truth has the right to be known; I'll make it public."
"You believe Bosacius was framed?"
"Not exactly." Yelan shook her head. "Nor will I believe he was guilty. Until truth is laid bare, I remain perfectly objective."
Sunlight blazed behind her.
Wanyan, leaning on the damp wall, gave a self-mocking smile:
"…Miss Yelan, you are more a historian than I."
"Why?" Yelan raised a brow.
Staring at her silhouette, Wanyan whispered, "…Because you walk the right, bright road—while I stay inside my own alley. Yet I cannot complain; it was my choice."
"Can't follow," Yelan said, and walked toward the broader sunlit street.
---
Since the memorial day, half a month had passed.
Crimson twilight stained sky and land; on Wangshu Inn's plankway it cast layer after layer of blood-like shadow. Xiao watched the dim sun-shapes, brows knitting slightly.
Maybe—
He had mistaken something.
Xiao bit his tongue; pain quelled a sudden impulse—twisted, snarling whispers echoed deep in his ears… After a while they faded.
A glance at the bronze mirror: golden eyes seemed to hold killing aura—strange yet familiar, just like what he had once seen in that man's eyes twenty-four hundred years ago.
The only difference—those eyes had been even darker, wicked as the world's most dreadful god.
What hid in Xiao's gaze was weak—weak enough for him to conquer easily.
Why… so alike?
What was it?
He had forgotten something—something vital. Something he must remember.
But he could not recall. Of twenty-four hundred years ago he remembered only skies of blood, a leaden firmament, ground scorched into ash.
That day was Liyue's most chaotic since the Immortal-God War.
Marshal Vritras slaughtered Sal Terrae's soldiers, attacked all the Yakshas, and escaped.
Rex Lapis vanished; Azhdaha was slain. Soon after, the Chasm was in upheaval; the Millelith guarding it were killed by Bosacius.
Ganyu and the Yakshas found the sinful immortal in the Chasm's depths. After fierce battle Ganyu herself slew her senior brother, ending the traitor's life.
That was the whole truth—
—at least, so Rex Lapis later said.
The deepest Chasm housed Liyue's Ley Line; Bosacius was there to corrupt it and destroy Liyue.
That was the story. Xiao, then, chose to believe it.
But now… why now did his heart tremble before this "truth"?
He still recalled Bosacius that day: verbena-purple eyes turned blood-red; dark threads veined the pupils; breath seethed with baleful aura—terrible, hideous… What, exactly, was in those eyes?
Since returning from the grave, since meeting that mysterious boy, since seeing the same ominous hint in his own eyes—
Xiao had begun to suspect: perhaps that thing had always existed. Bosacius had not meant betrayal; his mind was eroded by something inside—so he lost reason, killed so many. He had never wanted betrayal…
After the drink at Bosacius' tomb, Xiao kept building his conjecture—still full of gaps.
He stood at the fork of the right road; the truth lay before him. He was not unable to walk there—he simply dared not let thought go that way.
"Kid, how about running with me?"
"Swap to a better big brother."
"From now on you're Xiao."
"Kneel to no one ever again."
Sunset's afterglow was filed away by the mountain ridges; at the horizon only a pallid light remained.
Night descended—another day ended, another day Conqueror of Demons had watched the mortal realm: a peaceful day.
Strange indeed. Since that disaster two millennia ago Liyue had known no crisis; even Abyss corruption rarely appeared.
An age of peace—it fit.
Adeptal contract bid him guard mortals a thousand years; Xiao had never left his post. Yet today he planned to "take leave."
The Chasm—he would go.
To see Bosacius' place of death.
For himself, for that man—Xiao had fled a millennium; he could no longer hide.
Each year Indarias begged him to visit their big brother's grave; each year Xiao refused, saying he would not pray for a sinner.
Yet every drizzly dusk, every yellow-hazed sundown, that youth appeared at the grave, laying a bouquet of white flowers.
Xiao told himself to forget, to hate the sinner… but he knew he could not.
He could neither forget Bosacius nor learn hatred.
That boy, Seino Yaku, had said rightly: "Cheers, to the past Seiyaku and today's fireworks."
Kid, wanna run with me?
Swap to a better big brother?
When the god that enslaved Xiao was slain by Bosacius, Bosacius spoke thus— their promise.
Bosacius was his big brother. Even branded a sinful immortal, he remained big brother.
Xiao would seek that old promise, or forever miss "today's fireworks."
The Chasm—perhaps all truth slept in its depths.
---
This covenant felt very odd.
[Seventh Covenant: Please head for The Chasm…]
Only the first half—head for the Chasm—the rest blank?
Had the Human Principles System broken?
Everything smelled strange.
Head for the Chasm… and then what?
Earlier covenants—graves, tomb-raids—always listed place, person, task in full ("dig up the little zombie you sealed").
Who made this seventh covenant?
What was promised?
Nothing at all—so vague, totally unreliable!
Faced with such trouble even Seino Yaku felt at a loss.
He sighed softly. One step at a time, then.
The Chasm…?
Propping his chin, he watched the sinking sun, thinking.
"Hey, Baka Yaku." Lumine shook his shoulders. "Baka Yaku, come back to earth!"
"…What!" he snapped, lifting his gaze.
"Work."
Hands on hips, she spoke solemnly. Fine sweat slid from gold hair tips. Today Lumine looked odd: face smudged with sawdust, sturdy hiking boots, thick cotton gloves, hammer in hand—like a carpenter.
"Work! Work!"
Little Qiqi, though tiny, was strong as ever; she hefted a log three Qiqis could circle, mimicked Lumine, raised a hand: "Qiqi… work."
Paimon planted fists on hips too, copying Qiqi: "Work!"
"So tired…"
Seino Yaku sprawled on a rock like a salted fish. "I've no strength left."
"Work" meant the half-built log cabin before them.
Foundation packed, fine timber chosen, half the frame up. Pale-green boards basked in sunset, faint cedar scent drifting.
Since returning from Sal Terrae Lumine seemed… affected. Back in Liyue she insisted on building a cabin. At first a struggle: she knew no architecture, had to grope along.
These days—felling trees, reading manuals, felling more, bossing Seino Yaku to chop and study—though exhausting, miracle of miracles: two people plus one Qiqi plus one Paimon were about to finish a home.
A cabin—almost done.
Home.
A strange word.
What is "home"?
Inns were his lodging—did inns count? Apparently a roof alone wasn't "home." Then what was?
Seino Yaku didn't know.
"Baka little corpse,"
Evening dimmed; a last glow crossed Lumine's grimy cheek. Hammer in hand, she climbed the ladder to brace the roof.
Seino Yaku meant to tell her to rest, but watched instead—
Gold-haired idiot counted on fingers, clearly proud of her "kingdom," muttering partition rules:
"Three rooms—smallest for Paimon, then for Qiqi." Hands on hips, she declared: "The biggest goes to me! Our house is almost done."
"And dear—sweet—Miss Lumine, me?"
"You sleep in the living room," she smiled.
Tiny cabin, divisions very clear.
She was serious—sunset bathed the wood; corridor, hall, every space small yet planned; each board nailed by their hands.
At last Seino Yaku voiced the wonder: "What is home?"
"House, loads of food, loads of money!" Paimon answered first. "A place with all three is home!"
I see.
He looked to Qiqi. "What about you?"
"Qiqi…?" The little zombie lifted her head, puzzled. She tilted, thought. "Qiqi… doesn't know."
"Qiqi used to… live in coffin. No one… with Qiqi. Very sad,"
She paused, lowered her head, fingers clutching hem. "But Qiqi… now… doesn't know."
"But Qiqi," she looked up—she couldn't smile, being dead, yet with little hands she pulled her mouth like Paimon, clumsily showing teeth:
"Now… very happy. Building this… Qiqi feels happy."
She nodded earnestly. "Qiqi… not alone."
"W-with someone… is h-home. A-alone… is c-coffin."
So it is… Seino Yaku rubbed her lavender hair, pinched her cheek: "Baka."
He rose, brushed dust, sunset withdrawn; rolling sleeves he revived his vigor: "Work!"
They would build the cabin.
Not big, yet rooms clearly split; not big, yet there'd be food, money, and not being alone—that pile of wood, coin, food, and people together formed home.
Days later, last timber placed, he asked Lumine, "We'll travel to the Chasm yet—why rush the cabin?"
"Someone's rebuilding a whole kingdom for somebody," Lumine muttered, eyes averted, fixed on their house. At length she murmured: "I can't… I'm no god—not as strong. I can't do that."
Proud as always, now she lowered her gaze: "I can only make a little cabin."
She clapped dusty hands, skipped up the steps like hopscotch. In brilliant spring light she turned—gold hair ablaze:
"A very small cabin," she said, measuring with hands. "One living room, three bedrooms, a kitchen-dining—tiny. That's all I have."
"Seino Yaku—I'm only that much." She toed a stone, finally lifted her head:
"Will you, every dusk… come back to this cabin for dinner?"
She tilted her head; dimples peeked; golden bob gleamed. "The cabin will stay here. And Qiqi, and Paimon."
Amid dancing tree-shadows she smiled like a blossom.
He scratched his hair; at last he laughed helplessly: "It'd better taste good."
"My grilled fish is top of Liyue!"
Lumine's boasting had always been top-tier.
"Sounds fine." He nodded.
A place with food, money, not alone, and someone waiting at dusk—that building Liyue people call home.
Night deepened; distant chimneys smoked over navy mountains. Seino Yaku followed Lumine up the steps, laid a hand on the wooden door, exhaled, and pushed.
"Welcome… home."
Qiqi squatted behind the door, arms up, smiling:
"Seino Yaku."
[Seventh Covenant: Please head for The Chasm…]