Liyue's Internet cafe thrummed under dusk's amber veil—its 400 rigs a glowing haven, Red Alert 2's tanks clashing and Monopoly's dice rolling in the LAN's din—and Zhongli sat, Romance of the Three Kingdoms unfolding on his screen, "The river is long and tempestuous, it was like a hero," a line that struck his geo soul like a hammer.
He paused—"High praise from a single verse," his voice a murmur, the poem's weight a mirror to Teyvat's chaos—and the next line flared, "The general trend of the world, long-term division must unite, long-term unity must divide," his expectations soaring, "Unlike Liyue—gods anchor us," a contrast etched in his ancient gaze.
The tale began—Eastern Han's twilight, no preamble, straight to the Yellow Turban Uprising's fire, "Politics rot, eunuchs reign, wars drain,"—and Zhongli nodded, "Land swallowed, people crushed—seeds of revolt," the screen a window to a godless realm, its turmoil a foil to Teyvat's divine reign.
Zhang Jiao rose—184 AD, "The sky is dead, yellow sky ascends," his yellow-scarved rebels a storm, "Tiangong, Digong, Rengong—brothers in chaos,"—and Zhongli mused, "Burning halls, slaying lords—a month to shake a nation," the Yellow Turbans' might a echo of Mondstadt's old slave fires.
He reflected—"Humans—weak alone, fierce together," his geo mind drifting to Old Mond's uprising, "Lawrence's nobles mirror this Han—greed unbound,"—and yet, "Gods crush such tides; Raiden's blade would end it," his power a rock, Teyvat's order a shield against such mortal storms.
Zhuo County flickered—Liu Bei, Guan Yu, Zhang Fei met, "Red-face, black-face, royal blood—brothers sworn,"—and Zhongli's heart stirred, "Peach forest oaths—to die as one," his memory a tide, "Demon War—my kin," their faces fading, wear's toll a scar he couldn't shake.
Sadness crept—"Good brothers—gone," his geo calm cracking, "Memory's curse—too sharp,"—and he sighed, "Forgetfulness would ease this," his screen a balm, Liu's trio a mirror to his lost, the Three Kingdoms a saga to bury his past in its heroic sprawl.
Meanwhile, Liam trekked—Teyvat's wilds unfurled, Liyue's bluestone road yielding to dirt, "Mondstadt-bound—slow and steady,"—and his pack swayed, "Cloud traveler reborn," his old life's dreams of survival now real, the Sharingan a crimson pulse behind his eyes, a gift yet untested.
Qianyan Army stood—sentinels along the path, "Strict still—millennia strong," their spears glinting under fading light—and beacon towers loomed, "Relics of old wars," Liam mused, "Teyvat's peace—fragile out here," his steps a rhythm, the wilds a canvas beyond Liyue's glow.
Dusk deepened—he bypassed an inn, "Too early—camp tonight," his tent pitched by a stream, "Fish—fire—freedom,"—and the Rebellion Sword speared trout, flames crackling, "Seasoning's key," the scent wafting, a lure in the darkening wilds, his peace a fleeting spark.
Hilichurls stirred—drawn by the aroma, "Trouble—always," Liam grinned, his Sharingan flaring—and dozens emerged, "Armored brutes, claw freaks, sword thugs," their forms a menace, "Three-star—Earl-level," his stance a blade, the night's quiet shattered by their guttural cries.
Action flared—Hilichurls charged, "Raaa!" an armored one roared, gauntlets swinging—and Liam dodged, "Amaterasu!" black flames erupted, "Burn—now!" three crisping, "Too slow!" his sword slashing, a claw variant's arm falling, "Next!" his Sharingan tracing their chaos in the firelight.
A thug lunged—"Big blade—cute," Liam taunted, "Susanoo!" a ribcage of violet energy blocking, the sword clanging—and he countered, "Fireball Jutsu!" a blast torching two, "Five down—more?" his breath steady, the stream's gurgle a counterpoint to the Hilichurls' shrieks.
Back in Liyue—Zhongli watched, "Liu Bei—humble, yet bold," his geo gaze softening, "Like him once,"—and the cafe pulsed, Hu Tao rolling dice, "Monopoly—mine!" her cackle a spark, Tartaglia growling, "Tanks—crush her!" their LAN a clash, Rei's red eyes tracing the din.
A subplot twisted—Liam's trek tested, "Mond's wilds—Rei'll hold Liyue," his faith a rock—and Tartaglia slipped, "Bracelet—again," orange-red light flaring, "Hydro Burst!" a geyser soaking a rig, "Oops—strong!" his laugh a tide, Hu Tao pouncing, "Show it—now!" their chase a thread.
Rei stood—"Night service—on," her voice a breeze, Tier Harribel nodding, "Rigs—stable,"—and melon-eaters cheered, "Red Alert—war's live!" their screens a roar, Zhongli musing, "Three Kingdoms—strategy's heart," the cafe a crucible, Liam's absence a void they'd fill.
Hilichurls swarmed—ten left, "Persistent—ugh," Liam spun, "Kamui!" a thug warping away, "Gone—next!"—and claws raked, "Close—too close!" his sword parrying, "Fire Style—Phoenix Flower!" sparks raining, four igniting, "Six left—come on!" his camp a battlefield under Teyvat's stars.
Zhongli leaned—"Guan Yu—loyalty's blade," his memory a tide, "Like them—lost,"—and he sighed, "Wear spares me—haunts me," his screen a refuge, Liu's oath a balm, the cafe's glow a sanctuary, Three Kingdoms a mirror to his eons of grit and grief.
Emotion surged—Liam's thrill clashed with danger, "Rei's smile—worth this," his Sharingan a blaze; Zhongli's calm masked sorrow, "Brothers—faded," his geo soul a rock; Tartaglia's whimsy wrestled pride, "Girl power—mine!"—and Teyvat trembled, their saga a blaze in the night.
Liam struck—"Last—die!" his sword impaling, the final Hilichurl collapsing, "Done—fish's cold,"—and he sat, "Mond's close—Rei's got it," his fire flickering, the Sharingan dimming, Teyvat's wilds a forge, Liyue's cafe a beacon in his mind's eye.
Rei watched—"Order—maintain," her spear a sentinel, Harribel murmuring, "He'll thrive—wilds or not,"—and the cafe roared, "Monopoly—bankrupt!" Hu Tao crowed, Tartaglia's tanks falling, Zhongli's gaze on Wei, Shu, Wu, Liyue's LAN a tapestry of war and memory.
Liam grinned—"First blood—Mond next," his tent a haven, the stream's song a lullaby—and Zhongli nodded, "Three Kingdoms—endure," his tea a ritual, the cafe's pulse a balm, Teyvat's wilds and LAN a dual dawn, their hearts a fire breaking over its endless sprawl.
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