Chapter Text
When he had first chosen to walk this earth as the mortal Zhongli, he had been committed to it— to all of it, in fact, all aspects of a mortal life. There were many charming things about living life as a mortal.
“Mr. Zhongli!” calls Merchant Xian joyfully. “The item that you reserved has arrived!”
The bustling markets of the harbor was one of them. The liveliness of vendors hawking their wares and the ever-cycling stock of an endless variety of goods always proves a good choice of venue for a morning walk, and an afternoon walk, and perhaps also an evening walk.
“Thank you,” Zhongli says, delighted, as he collects the wrapped item from the counter. “This must be—”
“The vase,” Merchant Xian supplies, completing his sentence with a pleased chuckle. “Hand-glazed porcelain, with jade handles and the crackled glass you so liked on the inside. The handles have been restored as you directed.”
“Ah,” Zhongli says, perking up. “I had been looking forward to receiving this.”
“The tea-set is still with the craftsman,” Merchant Xian informs him.
“The lacquer set with the gold leaf patternings and inlaid semi-precious stones,” Zhongli recalls. “Yes, the design of the peonies was very well-done. Using the stones to form the centers was quite a marvelous idea, and the gold leaf for the petals was applied with great care. It was too bad that the varnish was wearing off.”
“Well, it should be good as new once Master Wu is done with it,” Merchant Xian assures him. “I’ll let you know when it arrives. I suppose I can expect to see you passing by during one of your walks?”
“Of course,” Zhongli says.
“Have a good day, Mr. Zhongli!” Merchant Xian calls as he turns, heading back in the direction of the funeral parlor with the wrapped vase tucked under one arm.
Vendors call out to him in fond greeting, voices warm and friendly, as he makes his way through the market. He waves and nods in return, stopping here and there to say a quick hello or engage in small talk.
Up in the peaks of Jueyun Karst, time had moved so slowly that it had seemed almost to stand still, with nothing to indicate the passing of time save for the slow drift of clouds, and the even slower erosion of mountain and rock. Down here in the harbor, however, the city never sleeps. There is never a dull moment in Liyue Harbor, it seems, and that is what Zhongli adores most about mortal life.
“Mr. Zhongli!” Merchant Yang calls from his storefront. “Just the man I was hoping to see! I have some new stock that arrived from Fontaine today that I think you’ll be very interested in.”
“Fontaine, was it?” Zhongli asks, coming closer as Merchant Yang bends to retrieve something from under the counter.
“Yes, yes,” Merchant Yang says, placing a small leather case on the table. “Mother-of-pearl opera glasses, with inlaid gold vines. They are all the rage now in Fontaine, you know, these opera glasses? I know you frequent the theater here regularly.”
“Opera glasses,” Zhongli repeats.
“You can use them to see the stage more clearly,” Merchant Yang explains, as he carefully unzips the case. “Here, hold them up for a look.”
The item in question is a delicately crafted set of binoculars, but smaller and much more ornamental.
“They are made with lower magnification than regular binoculars,” Merchant Yang explains, as Zhongli lifts it to his face. “That way, you can still see the entirety of the stage, but have a closer look at the expressions and costumes of the performers.”
“Oh,” Zhongli says, as he sees exactly what Merchant Yang means. “Oh, yes, these will be quite useful.”
Drawing a slip of paper from a drawer, Merchant Yang writes down the asking price, before passing the slip over.
“A fair price,” Zhongli muses. “I do not have my wallet with me. May I trouble you to hold the item until my afternoon walk?”
“I'd be delighted to,” Merchant Yang agrees, beaming.
Before too long, Zhongli is ascending the stairs from the funeral parlor to his quarters above it. After making sure that the door is locked, he sets the vase down on the sitting room table, and unwraps it with much relish.
“Ah,” he murmurs happily, as the last of the wrappings come off. “How lovely.”
The vase had been quite the steal, in his opinion, seeing as the jade handles had been weathered and in poor condition. Luckily, they had been easily restored with a little bit of polishing from an experienced jade-worker. With the exquisite quality of the hand-glazing, Zhongli had been loath to leave the vase languishing away in storage. No one else would have bought it in its previous state.
Quite satisfied with his purchase, Zhongli sets the vase down in the corner he had cleared in anticipation of its arrival. Then, turning to the chest of drawers beside it, he retrieves the well-used mortar and pestle from atop it, and sits back down at the table.
When he had begun his mortal life, he had been committed to all aspects of it, but if his discipline slips a little here and there then— well, a small indulgence from time to time never hurt anyone.
Pulling his gloves off, he pushes his left sleeve up, and allows the bronze scales of his true form to ripple down his arm. Digging a talon beneath one of them, he pries it carefully loose, before dropping it into the mortar. He takes the pestle to it, grinding it patiently to dust. A little bit of water, a quick stir, and he puts his hand over the mixture, willing it to shape itself to his command.
When he removes his hand, the mortar is filled to the brim with coins.
A small indulgence here and there never hurt anyone, he tells himself contentedly, as he empties the mora into his coin pouch. Besides, he has a delightful pair of mother-of-pearl opera glasses to pick up.
A small indulgence now and again never hurt anyone — Zhongli maintains that. Though in retrospect, perhaps he had allowed himself a few too many of them.
There had been the mother-of-pearl opera glasses, yes, and then the ivory dragon with ruby eyes, the hand-embroidered folding screen of rosewood and brocade silk, the ink painting of Chenyu Vale from atop Mt. Laixin, the agarwood vanity adorned with bronze carvings and inlaid jade, and—
Well, he had probably allowed himself a few too many indulgences in other words. Hindsight is twenty-twenty as they say. It's just extremely regrettable that he had only realized his error when it had quite literally come knocking at his door, presenting him with an expense record that would make anyone quail — even the God of Wealth himself.
“Your expense record this year is nearly ten times your yearly income, as per salary records submitted by Wangsheng to the Ministry of Civil Affairs,” the civil servant, the one who had introduced herself as Clerk Yan, tells him. “Could you kindly declare the source of funds for your purchases?”
“Savings,” he says immediately, a safe enough response, in his opinion.
“And the source of your savings?” Clerk Yan questions.
“I—” he begins, and clears his throat. He had been involved in appraising Cloud Retainer’s belongings not long ago, hadn't he? That had been where she had gotten the money to purchase a house in the harbor. “Sales of privately owned antiques.”
“Where did the antiques come from?” asks Clerk Yan.
“Some were purchased, and some were… family heirlooms,” he responds, recalling the excuse that Cloud Retainer had used.
“Where did the money you used to purchase the antiques come from?” Clerk Yan questions.
This is turning out to be quite the headache.
“Inheritance,” he finally answers. “I inherited a sum of money along with the heirlooms.”
“I see,” Clerk Yan says, before continuing, after a moment. “Would you happen to have documentation to support this?”
“Pardon?” Zhongli asks, quite bewildered by this question. “What do you mean by documentation?”
“A will or grant of probate, for example,” Clerk Yan explains.
“My parents did not leave a will, seeing as I do not have siblings and we did not have other living relatives,” Zhongli says, thinking fast.
He had thought it to be quite a good excuse, especially for one made up on the fly, but it seems Clerk Yan does not agree, because her eyes are narrowing.
“Can you produce any evidence of familial relation?” she probes. “Your birth certificate would be a good start, seeing as the Ministry of Civil Affairs does not seem to have a copy of it.”
“Err,” Zhongli begins. “No, I'm sorry.”
“You do not have a birth certificate?” Clerk Yan questions disbelievingly.
“I— misplaced it some time back,” Zhongli lies, “and never filed for a new one.”
“What about death certificates for family members who left the inheritance?” Clerk Yan prods.
“I misplaced those with the birth certificate,” Zhongli says. “I apologize. The move here was sudden and there were many boxes to juggle.”
Clerk Yan narrows her eyes further.
“Very well,” she says crisply. “I will leave the topic of your inheritance aside for the time being. Can you produce your copy of the receipt for sales of your personally owned antiques?”
“Receipts?” Zhongli repeats incredulously. “I did not think to issue one to the buyer, let alone keep a copy for myself, seeing as it was a personal and not a business transaction.”
“Can you provide a list of items sold, their prices, and also the name of the buyer so that we can verify the sales amount?” Clerk Yan asks.
Zhongli hesitates.
“I'm sorry,” he says reluctantly. “I didn't keep records of what I sold and who I sold them to. I can't remember off the top of my head right now either.”
Clerk Yan is quiet for a long, long moment.
“Alright,” she finally says.
And without another word, she turns around and leaves.
Zhongli stands in the doorway of the funeral parlor for a moment longer, watching as her back vanishes gradually into the sea of people browsing the stores of Feiyun Slope. As she is swallowed by the crowd, he finally steps back, closing the doors.
Somehow, he gets the feeling that the matter is far from over.
The matter comes knocking on his door again the very next day.
“Tax fraud!” Childe howls at dinner that night, slapping the table in inexplicable mirth. “You're being investigated for tax fraud!”
“Yes, as I said, they served me the notice of investigation this morning,” Zhongli sighs. “I'm expected at the Ministry of Civil Affairs to give a statement.”
“Tax fraud!” Childe continues to howl.
“You are being unhelpful,” Zhongli informs him, not that Childe seems to care. He laughs uncontrollably for the next five minutes, and then, once he has mastered himself enough to resume eating, continues to laugh on and off for the rest of the meal.
It is only at the end of the meal that he finally seems to decide to make himself useful.
“You know,” he offers, amused, “You could always say that I paid for your purchases. I'll back you up if asked.”
“I said that the funds came from inheritance and sales of personal belongings,” Zhongli reminds him reluctantly.
“Then tell them I bought the items from you,” Childe says flippantly. “I'll have Ekaterina draw up some fake bank statements to prove it. As for the inheritance, if you give me a couple of days, I should be able to do something about that too.”
“That—” Zhongli begins, “would actually be extremely helpful.”
“I'll drop by the funeral parlor when the documents are ready,” Childe promises. “As for today’s bill…” He smirks. “I don't suppose you've brought your wallet out tonight, have you?”
Zhongli's hand flies to his breast pocket, which is indeed lying flat against his chest.
“No,” he admits, and Childe laughs again.
“Oh, Mr. Zhongli,” he muses fondly. “Some things never change.”
Two days later, Childe returns with a manila envelope. Inside are the promised documents — the Northland Bank statements, a birth certificate, and two death certificates issued in Snezhnaya.
Zhongli’s alleged family is now a line of Liyuen antique dealers, living in Snezhnaya for several generations, where they had managed an auction house owned by the Northland Bank’s home branch. Zhongli had been born in Snezhnaya, and had only moved to Liyue upon the death of his parents.
With a sigh, Zhongli slips the documents back into the folder. He can't help but find it ironic that he's apparently Sneznayan now, but indeed, this would certainly explain why the Ministry has no copy of the birth and death certificates.
“According to Ekaterina, she has ensured that the figures balance,” Childe adds. “There’s a list of the items on your expense record, indicating the items which I paid for, and the remaining amount is covered by the heirlooms you sold to me as well as the sum of your inheritance. Those amounts are reflected on your bank statements.”
Rifling through the folder, Zhongli finds the aforementioned list. He gives it a brief once-over, before sliding it back into the envelope with a small nod.
“Thank you,” he says genuinely, unable to hide his relief. “I’ll submit the documents to the Ministry when I go in to give my statement.”
Inside a conference room within Yuehai Pavillion, Officer Qing’s eyes are bulging a little as she looks over the expense list. After a long moment, she reaches for the abacus on the desk, and for half a minute, there's only the sounds of quiet clicking as she seems to tally the amounts.
“Mr. Tartaglia has spent a small fortune on gifts,” she finally manages. “Clerk Yan wrote in her information report, however, that you claimed the money came from inheritance and sales of family heirlooms.”
“I was a little embarrassed to admit that Childe had purchased so many gifts,” Zhongli lies, “but I did also inherit a sum of money and some heirlooms, the latter of which Childe was kind enough to purchase when I was in need of money. The transaction amounts are reflected in the bank statements, and although my parents did not leave a will, I was able to apply to the embassy to have my birth certificate and the death certificates re-issued.”
Sliding the other documents out of the envelope, Officer Qing begins to frown as she reviews the papers. Zhongli sits there patiently, allowing her to rifle through the papers at her own pace. She's rather meticulous, Zhongli can't help but reflect. She re-reads the papers twice more, before finally setting them down.
“We will need time to process these documents,” she says, slowly and cautiously. “I will need to check some things over with my supervisor, so you may return home in the meantime.”
A somewhat disconcerting reaction, but there's nothing else Zhongli can say or do at this point, so he simply does as she says.
Three days later, Zhongli returns to the funeral parlor from his early morning walk to find a pair of Millelith soldiers at the door, speaking with a rather distressed and panicked Ferrylady.
“Good morning, dear sirs,” he greets, somewhat bewildered. “What appears to be the matter?”
As the guards turn to him, the Ferrylady hurries back into the parlor, shouting for Director Hu. The guards trade a brief look, before looking back at him.
“Mr. Zhongli, you are under arrest under charges of money laundering for foreign entities,” one says, before pausing momentarily. “My deepest apologies, Mr. Zhongli, but we’ll have to take you into custody now.”
“Money laundering?” Zhongli repeats disbelievingly. “For foreign entities? What foreign entities?”
Before the guards can reply, Hu Tao comes leaping down the stairs, two at a time, still in her pajamas.
“Is it true?” she gasps, incongruously gleeful in the face of the current situation. “You're arresting Zhongli?”
“The Ministry of Civil Affairs has issued a warrant for his arrest,” a guard informs her, producing said warrant. “He is being charged for money laundering for foreign entities.”
Hu Tao snatches the warrant from him, eyes rapidly moving top to bottom, top to bottom, as she seemingly scans the document. Then finally, with a loud slap of her knee, she bursts into hysterical laughter.
“Money laundering!” she shrieks. “For the Fatui!”
Holding her belly, she tips her head back, continuing to laugh and laugh and laugh, like it's the funniest thing she's heard all year. Somehow, Zhongli does not understand the hilarity in this situation.
“I’ll post his bail,” Hu Tao finally manages through her inexplicable laughing fit. “Give me the papers.”
“Director Hu,” Zhongli begins, once the Millelith have left and they are safely behind closed doors.
Hu Tao holds up a hand before he can continue.
“Look,” she says, “I know what this is about.”
“You… do?” Zhongli asks.
“Yep,” Hu Tao says. “You're an adeptus. I've suspected for ages. The stuff you sold and your savings are accumulated possessions you don't have documentation for, so you got Childe to falsify an identity and bank records, and now you're in trouble for money laundering.”
At that, she seems unable to contain her mirth, because she begins to laugh again.
“Bring the other adepti in,” she finally chuckles. “Ask them for advice on what to do.”
Zhongli is silent for a moment, before he sighs.
“One of the adepti has just moved into the harbor after selling a number of valuables,” he admits resignedly. “I will ask her for advice.”
“Zhongli-daren,” Xianyun begins, as they settle around the table in his home atop the funeral parlor, “was it really necessary to acquire a table inlaid with silver, ivory, and precious gems?”
“It was carved of red sandalwood,” Zhongli defends. “No one makes furniture out of red sandalwood these days. Sandalwood furniture pieces are valuable and rare antiques, seeing as the wood has grown so scarce. Besides, I was offered a discount since I had previously bought the agarwood vanity and the rosewood partition from the same merchant.”
There's a moment of accusing silence.
“That doesn't sound remotely like any sort of defense,” Yanfei remarks.
After a moment, Streetward Rambler offers her a pat on the shoulder and a kindly smile.
“I'll leave you to it, my dear,” she murmurs. “Good luck.”
Without another word, she turns and exits the room. Yanfei puts her head in her hands, drawing a deep breath, before looking back up.
“Mr. Zhongli,” she says. “Have you never heard of remaining silent until your lawyer arrives?” She gestures, despairingly, at the folder of documents before her. “Why didn't you call me in before submitting falsified evidence that is now being used to support money laundering charges?”
No one speaks as she exhales forcefully, scrubbing tiredly at her brow.
“So what should we do?” Moon Carver finally asks.
For a moment longer, Yanfei just sits with the heels of her palm dug into her browbones, before finally, she looks back up with a determined look on her face.
“Answer honestly,” she says to Zhongli. “Where did the money come from?”
Zhongli stiffens. “Personal savings,” he manages, after a moment.
“And where did the savings come from?” Yanfei prompts.
“One accumulates many worldly possessions over the course of millennia,” Zhongli says stoically. “I sold some of my personal collection.”
Yanfei narrows her eyes. “And where are the sales receipts? Bank statements?”
“In the folder over there,” Zhongli answers, nodding towards the envelope on the desk before her.
But Yanfei does not open or even look down at it.
“I know that the sum claimed to be inheritance was bogus,” she comments evenly, “seeing as you've admitted that you never lived in Snezhnaya, and that Childe forged your birth certificate and the death certificates.”
Finally, she opens the envelope, and produces a sheet from within. This one is unfamiliar, and upon closer inspection, appears to be her own handwritten calculations.
“Even if I assume that the sales of heirlooms to Childe are real,” she continues, “and that Childe really paid for the items he said he paid for, that only adds up to sixty percent of the expenses the Ministry has provided as evidence for the charges.”
She narrows her eyes further.
“So where did the remaining forty percent come from?” she questions. “And I sincerely doubt that Childe actually paid for the items he said he paid for, so even forty percent is an understated estimate.”
For a long moment, Zhongli does not speak. Finally, Xiao narrows his eyes, turning to Yanfei.
“You do not have the right to question him,” he intones.
“With all due respect,” Yanfei says coolly, “I do in fact have the right, if I'm to represent him in court.” She turns back to Zhongli. “I need to know where the money came from, Mr. Zhongli.”
“And if I were to say it came from personal savings, mora that I've accumulated through various means over the long millennia?” Zhongli deflects.
“Is that what you're saying?” Yanfei asks sharply.
There's more silence, before Yanfei sighs, rising to her feet.
“If you will not be truthful with me, then I cannot help you,” she says curtly.
Gripping her forearm, Xianyun pulls her back down into her seat.
“Come now, child,” she murmurs cajolingly. “Is this necessary?”
But Yanfei seems adamant.
“I cannot represent a client who is not being truthful with me,” she reiterates stubbornly. “I know that some lawyers lie in court and abet the fabrication of evidence, but I'm not one of them.”
Protests break out as she attempts to stand again. After a moment longer of coaxing and bartering, Zhongli finally sighs.
“I must show you something,” he says, and rises.
From the chest of drawers behind him, he retrieves the well-used mortar and pestle, setting it on the table. Removing his gloves, he sits back down, pushing his sleeve up and firmly plucking a scale from his forearm.
Yanfei recoils at the motion, looking slightly horrified.
“Wait,” Mountain Shaper begins, alarmed, as he drops the scale into the mortar, and begins to grind. “My lord, are you really—?”
Still not speaking, Zhongli briskly empties his cup of tea into the mortar, stirs, and then puts his hand over it. He hears Yanfei draw a quiet breath as he allows power to channel through him, glowing down the golden veins on his blackened arms, likely setting his eyes alight with divine fire.
After a moment, he allows the power to fade, and finally removes his hand, pushing the mortar over to Yanfei. Her eyes widen at the sight of the mortar now brimming with coins. She looks up at him, and then back down into the mortar.
“That's where the rest came from,” Zhongli admits.
Yanfei stares for a moment longer, before she puts her face in her hands.
“I didn't sign up for this when I became a lawyer,” she mutters despairingly.
There's a long moment of silence, before Moon Carver clears his throat.
“So what should we do?” he asks again.
“I didn't sign up for this when I became a lawyer,” Yanfei continues to mutter to herself. “I really didn't sign up for this—”
To her credit, she seems to collect herself quickly enough, because she looks back up after a moment.
“Alright,” she says determinedly. “I'll represent you, but give me some time to figure out how to put your case together.”
With that said, she sighs again, lowering her head and rubbing tiredly at her brow. After a moment, Xianyun sighs as well, and reaches out to pick up the sheet holding Yanfei’s tabulations. Her eyes bulge as she reviews it, before she looks back up at Zhongli.
“You minted how much mora?!” she hisses disbelievingly.
“I, Keqing, Yuheng of the Liyue Qixing,” Keqing begins solemnly, “do swear that I will well and truly serve in the temporary office of Court Magistrate. I swear to do right by all manner of people after the laws of Liyue. If I lie, may I be visited upon by the Wrath of the Rock. So help me, our beloved and late lord — Rex Lapis.”
That oath immediately incites a sober air within the courtroom. On the other side of the aisle, the prosecution bow their heads, hands held across their hearts in solemn grief.
Having completed her oaths of temporary office, Keqing resumes her seat at the magistrate’s table. Ganyu, however — seated at the desk of the court scribe beside her — looks somewhat ill.
With oaths and opening statements out of the way, Keqing calls the first witness.
“Will Mr. Tartaglia take the stand?” Keqing requests.
Stepping up, Childe flippantly cracks his knuckles, to disapproving scowls from the prosecution and the magistrate’s desk.
“I will speak the truth, and nothing but the truth,” he recites lazily, before seeming to grow more serious. “In the name of the Almighty Tsaritsa, strike me where I stand, should I ever betray my oaths to her.”
It's a bit of a change from the usual, but delivered sincerely enough that, in the end, no one seems to find enough issue to protest. Childe is allowed to sit as the prosecution gathers their notes. It is not long before the young Prosecutor Xiu steps up.
“You are testifying on behalf of Mr. Zhongli of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor, who stands accused today,” she begins. “You have testified that his late parents were employees of an auction house owned by the home branch of the Northland Bank. Is that correct?”
“It is correct,” Childe affirms, before continuing more quickly— “And I know what you're thinking, as I knew from the moment I saw the charges. The items sold in the auction house have always been items confiscated as debt collateral from people who have defaulted on their loans. There's nothing shady about the auction house. It is used for liquidation, not for money laundering.”
“Hm,” Prosecutor Xiu says, seemingly unconvinced. “We move on to the question of the items you purchased from Mr. Zhongli. I assume you all have copies of Exhibit A — a silver spoon, purchased for the sum of two million mora. Mr. Tartaglia, do you dispute that you bought this item at the stated sum?”
“I do not dispute it,” Childe says.
“We also present Exhibit B, another item sold by Mr. Zhongli to Mr. Tartaglia,” she continues, “a wooden music box, sold for the sum of four million mora. Mr. Tartaglia, do you dispute the sale of this item at the stated price?”
“Nope,” Childe says.
Prosecutor Xiu puts down her notes.
“Mr. Tartaglia,” she says. “The prosecution has written reports from three different expert witnesses, all reputed appraisers, who have unanimously agreed that you bought the items at a greatly inflated price. This is the kind of price distortion commonly seen in money laundering cases. Would you not agree?”
“Objection,” Yanfei interjects. “Argumentative.”
Prosecutor Xiu exhales, but after a moment, without being prompted, seems to re-orient her approach.
“Why did you choose to buy these items from Mr. Zhongli?” she asks instead.
After a moment, Childe just shrugs.
“Am I not allowed to do small favors for my friends when they are in need of money?” he questions. “Mr. Zhongli can't budget for shit. Just ask the merchants he dealt with for the Rite of Parting. As the sponsor for the Rite of Parting, I was well aware of Zhongli’s poor budgeting skills. I was concerned about his finances.”
With an exasperated exhale, Yanfei puts her head in her hands.
“Hm,” Prosecutor Xiu allows, still unimpressed. “Let us move on to the items you have purchased for Mr. Zhongli. Please refer to Exhibit C — an ivory statuette of a dragon, inlaid with eyes of rubies, each ten carats and of spectacular purity according to our expert witnesses. Did you purchase this item for Mr. Zhongli?”
“Yep,” Childe says.
“Exhibit D,” Prosecutor Xiu continues. “A vanity carved of rare agarwood, trimmed in pine trees carved with trunks of delicately twining gold, and canopies comprised of rare jade. Did you purchase this item for Mr. Zhongli?”
“Yep,” Childe confirms.
“Exhibit E,” Prosecutor Xiu announces. “A round table with matching stools carved of prized red sandalwood, inlaid with silver, ivory, and—”
“Yep,” Childe interrupts. “I bought that one too.”
Prosecutor Xiu glares at the interruption, but finally gestures to the sheet in front of her.
“I believe everyone in this courtroom has access to the summary sheet provided to Officer Qing,” she states. “Mr. Tartaglia has spent a small fortune on gifts to Mr. Zhongli.”
“I am, as you probably know,” Childe provides, unprompted, “despicably wealthy. Why can't I pay for the expenses of my friends? It was a gift. They were gifts.”
“I put it to you that the Fatui is laundering money through sales of antiques,” Prosecutor Xiu spits fiercely. “I put it to you that Mr. Zhongli has been aiding you. The gifts are both injection of funds, and bribery to ensure his continued cooperation.”
“Or he could just be my sugar baby,” Childe tosses out flippantly.
Sitting beside Zhongli, Yanfei, who had been hydrating after her long opening speech on the stand, spits out her drink. Next to Keqing, Ganyu looks quite horrified, and for their part, the prosecution seems to have been rendered speechless.
Zhongli is a little confused, but before he can ask Yanfei about the unfamiliar term, Keqing speaks.
“Please answer the prosecution directly,” she orders. “I do not wish to hear suggestions and insinuations in this courtroom, only facts.” Finally, turning to the prosecution, she nods. “Continue.”
“Is that what you are saying then?” Prosecutor Xiu resumes. “That Mr. Zhongli is your… your…”
She trails off there, evidently struggling for another term.
“That he's my sugar baby?” Childe finally interrupts. “Yep.”
Still spluttering, Yanfei chokes, and abruptly begins to cough.
“I have no more questions,” Prosecutor Xiu says, and returns to her seat, where another prosecutor has risen.
“We call Mr. Zhongli to the stand,” he announces.
It takes a moment before Zhongli rises, leaving Yanfei’s side to assume his place in the witness box. Before him is a book of various acceptable examples of oaths, catered to the different nations of Tevyat, but he does not spare it even a glance.
“I swear to tell the truth and nothing but the truth,” he says, before taking a pause. Under the expectant eyes of the courtroom, he draws a quiet breath, and then continues. “Should I ever betray the interests of Liyue, shall the dishonor of it taint my blood , shall it strike me forever from this earth. Let it be so.”
With that oath stated, the new prosecutor nods his head briefly in respect, before continuing.
“Mr. Zhongli,” Prosecutor Qin begins. “Have you ever engaged in carnal homosexual relations with other men?”
Immediately, only so recently recovered, Yanfei begins to choke again. Zhongli says nothing, struck honestly speechless. Meanwhile, Ganyu shoots to her feet, looking scandalised.
Yanfei speaks before she can, however.
“Objection!” she splutters.
“On what basis?” Keqing asks.
Yanfei pauses for a moment. She is extremely, extremely red.
“I don't see how this question is at all relevant,” Zhongli finally offers.
“Let me rephrase,” Prosecutor Qin says, seeming a little flustered himself. “Are you in an illicit sexual relationship with Mr. Tartaglia?”
“What?” Zhongli manages, shocked and confused. “No.”
Yanfei exhales, and puts her head in her hands.
“So you are not, in fact, his…” Prosecutor Qin pauses for a long moment there, before continuing more reluctantly— “His sugar baby.”
“I am unfamiliar with this term,” Zhongli declares. “What is a sugar baby?”
There's a thud, and Zhongli turns to see that Yanfei has, for some reason, put her forehead to the desk. Childe’s mouth has dropped open. After a moment, he tips his head back, and begins to laugh.
“Order!” Keqing calls, with a stern rap of her gavel. “Mr. Tartaglia, please be quiet.”
Childe tries, and evidently fails, to contain his laughter. “I can't stop!” he howls. “What's a sugar baby, he asked!”
Eventually, Keqing raises a hand, and the Millelith at the door stride forward to remove Childe from the premises.
He laughs the whole way out.
“You do not know what a sugar baby is,” Prosecutor Qin finally says, in a strained tone of voice.
“No,” Zhongli confirms with a frown. “Otherwise, I would not have asked.”
Prosecutor Qin is quiet for a long moment, before finally, he speaks.
“Nevermind,” he says. “Can you confirm that you are not, in fact, Mr. Tartaglia’s lover?”
“I am not,” Zhongli confirms.
With a nod, the prosecution seems to move on to the next line of questioning.
“Where were you born?” Prosecutor Qin asks.
“... Snezhnaya,” Zhongli says, after a moment.
“Do you have any siblings?”
“No,” Zhongli responds.
“Where are your parents currently?”
“They are deceased.”
“When did they pass?”
“Five years ago, after which I moved to Liyue with my inheritance, bringing the heirlooms that I eventually sold.”
“Can you detail the heirlooms left to you?”
At that, Zhongli pauses. He looks briefly back towards Yanfei for reassurance, before continuing with their rehearsed account of events.
“They left to me many things,” he allows. “But amongst them were the silver spoon and the other items I eventually sold to Childe.”
“An item as common as a silver spoon is barely worthy of being called a heirloom, don’t you think?” Prosecutor Qin challenges.
“Objection,” Yanfei interrupts. “Argumentative.”
“I am merely pointing out the discrepancies—” Prosecutor Qin begins.
“Sustained,” Keqing cuts in, and sighs. “Rephrase your question.”
After a moment, the prosecutor picks up where he left off.
“Was it you who suggested the amount that Mr. Tartaglia paid for the spoon, or was it Mr. Tartaglia?” Prosecutor Qin rephrases.
“It was Tartaglia,” Zhongli answers certainly.
“Did you think the price was odd at the time?” Prosecutor Qin asks.
At that, Zhongli pauses, looking briefly at Yanfei. They had not rehearsed an answer to this question.
“No,” he finally says.
“Mr. Zhongli,” the prosecution begins. “You claim to be knowledgeable in the appraisal of antique items. Is that correct?”
“Yes,” Zhongli confirms.
“Where did you gain this knowledge of antique appraisal?”
“From my parents,” Zhongli answers readily, “as it has been the family trade for generations.”
“But three independent expert witnesses have testified that the spoon was sold at an incredibly inflated price,” Prosecutor Qin interjects. “So why did you not find the offer odd at the time?”
Zhongli is silent for a moment.
“As someone allegedly versed in antique appraisal,” Prosecutor Qin picks back up, “did you know that the price offered was not commensurate with the worth of the spoon?”
For a moment longer, Zhongli does not speak, before he finally sighs. “Truthfully, I guessed that Childe was making an inflated offer as a favor to a friend. As such, I did not find it odd. He has been very generous with me in the past, often paying for meals when I've forgotten my wallet.”
That part is at least true.
After a moment, Prosecutor Qin shifts his papers around on the desk, reordering them.
“Can you confirm that the names of your parents are—” He squints down at his desk. “Zhong Long and Li Lulu?”
Zhongli closes his eyes briefly. Hindsight, as they say, is twenty-twenty. He should probably have looked a little closer at the documents before submitting them.
“... Yes,” he finally confirms.
“May I enquire when they passed?”
“Five years ago,” Zhongli answers, “after which I moved to the harbor.”
“What was their position at the auction house?”
“My father was the director,” Zhongli says. “My mother supported his work on the side, serving informally as his secretary, personal assistant, and advisor, amongst other things.”
“Can you confirm the name of the auction house?”
“Imperial North Auctioneers, prosecutor.”
With that confirmed, Prosecutor Qin rearranges his papers once more, before drawing a folded sheet from an envelope with a broken wax seal, along with two other sheets of parchment. “Permission to approach the bench, Your Honor?”
“Granted,” Keqing allows.
Coming out from behind the desk, Prosecutor Qin hands the papers off. “May we hand copies to the witness and defense?”
“You may,” Keqing grants, as she unfolds the letter.
A moment later, she frowns.
Nodding in thanks, Zhongli receives a set of papers from Prosecutor Xiu, who has also come out from behind her desk. Looking down at the first sheet of paper, however, he feels himself going cold.
Exhibit F — a copy of a letter written to Imperial North Auctioneers, addressed to Director Zhong Long and his wife, Madam Li Lulu
He looks up at Prosecutor Qin, who has resumed his place behind his desk.
“We had a letter delivered via expedited courier to Imperial North Auctioneers a week ago, ” Prosecutor Qin explains. “In the letter, addressed to Director Zhong Long and your wife, Madam Li Lulu, we enquired if a particular antique currently being sold in Liyue Harbor had initially been purchased at the auction house, as the seller, Mr. Ivanovich, claims. We received an extremely interesting response— please refer to Exhibit G.”
There is the sound of rustling papers as those with copies rearrange their notes. A moment later, Zhongli hears a sharp intake of breath from Yanfei’s table.
“Just yesterday,” Prosecutor Qin continues, “we received an extremely puzzled letter back from a man named Igor Sokolov. He confirmed that an item of matching description had been sold to Mr. Ivanovich on the sixteenth of last month, but stated that no persons named Zhong Long or Li Lulu have ever worked at the auction house, let alone served as director, seeing as Igor Sokolov has been director for the last thirty years.”
Yanfei stands, looking quite stunned.
“Do you have an objection, Miss Yanfei?” Keqing prompts.
After a moment, seemingly unable to come up with anything, Yanfei shakes her head, and sits back down.
“Please refer to Exhibit H,” Prosecutor Qin instructs next. “We have here a copy of the receipt received by Mr. Ivanovich from Imperial North Auctioneers, corroborating that the purchase was made on the sixteenth. Seeing as the date of purchase is privileged information, this proves that the letter from Igor Sokolov indeed came from the auction house.”
Prosecutor Qin looks up from his papers, turning to face the bench.
“Your Honor,” he addresses Keqing. “We put these documents forth as evidence that Zhong Long and Li Lulu’s identities and death certificates were fabricated, meaning that Mr. Zhongli’s birth certificate, which lists those non-existent persons as parents— is also fabricated.”
Having stated that, Prosecutor Qin turns to Zhongli with narrowed eyes.
“So here lies the big question: Who, exactly, is the person we know as Mr. Zhongli? Why were his documents fabricated? And by who?”
He lets this sit for a moment, before answering his own question.
“Mr. Zhongli’s sole and strongest witness is Mr. Tartaglia,” he continues. “As a Fatui harbinger, a high-ranking government official, he would certainly be capable of having documents like birth and death certificates made. As the administrator of the Northland Bank’s Liyue branch, he is also capable of having bank statements fabricated. But why would the Fatui falsify an identity for Mr. Zhongli— unless he is, in fact, an undercover Fatui operative?”
At her desk, Ganyu is looking quite pale. Keqing, on the other hand, has a grim expression on her face.
“Mr. Zhongli,” she says crisply. “I hope you are aware that it is a crime to present falsified documents in court. If you cannot counter the evidence that your documents have been falsified in our subsequent hearings, that will be added to your list of charges. Depending on your level of cooperation, if found guilty, you may either be served with a small fine, or a jail term of up to seven years. Choose your next course of action wisely.”
After a moment, she hesitates, before turning to Yanfei.
“Defense,” she says, more quietly. “You have always conducted yourself with integrity. I am choosing to believe that you were unaware of the fabricated evidence. Please, counsel your client.”
Zhongli winces a little at the sound of Yanfei’s quiet, shaky exhale. Having said her piece, Keqing knocks her gavel sharply.
“The court session is closed,” she declares. “Defense and prosecution, you will be informed of the next hearing date soon.”
“The audacity of humans knows no bounds,” Xiao declares coldly. “They would presume to sentence their god?”
“Yes, but he's not facing trial as the Lord of Geo, is he?” Yanfei sighs. “He's facing trial as Mr. Zhongli of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor.”
Gathered around the sandalwood table in Zhongli’s sitting room, the collective atmosphere feels glum and almost listless. With a sigh, Zhongli lifts the teapot off the tea stove, pouring them each a cup of tea. Tea always makes a difficult situation better, in his experience.
Finally, Mountain Shaper slaps his hand down on the table, clearly furious.
“And the harbinger didn't think to tell the auction house to back up his story?!” he demands.
“He didn’t think the prosecution would be able to get a letter to Snezhnaya and back so quickly,” Yanfei says gloomily. “He also didn't anticipate that the prosecution would be so sneaky in their phrasing. If they had written asking if those persons worked at the auction house, Igor Sokolov would have been on guard, and would not have replied. But because they framed it as business correspondence, and it is in the interest of an auction house to fulfill requests to verify the authenticity of items sold, he responded.”
There is another long moment of listless silence, before Zhongli sighs again.
“Come now,” he coaxes. “Is there a need for such a morose air? If all else fails, I'll just fake my death and change my appearance again. That always solves the problem.”
“No!” the others explode in unison.
“We are not planning another funeral!” Xianyun snaps.
“You didn't even plan the first one,” Zhongli remarks, drawing a furious glare from her, to which he simply puts his hands up in surrender.
Meanwhile, sitting with her head in her hands, Yanfei lets out a quiet exhale. She does not look up, and after a moment, Zhongli sighs.
“I apologize, Miss Yanfei,” he finally offers, with genuine regret. “Because of me, your reputation could very well be affected, and your integrity called into question. If you should wish to withdraw your services, I would understand.”
At that, Yanfei immediately looks up.
“No—” she blurts out. “No, Mr. Zhongli, please don't say that. Although we’ve never signed a contract, as a half-adeptus myself, you are still my kin. Would I still be a person of integrity if I abandoned my family in a time of need? You, more than anyone, have valid reasons to hide your identity. I do not believe it dishonors me to participate in this concealment.”
“You said you're not the sort to lie and fabricate evidence,” Zhongli reminds her. “And yet, because of me, you've been forced to do just that.”
Yanfei chuckles.
“I said that because I thought you were being shady,” she admits. “I'm no stickler for facts and rules. As long as it's not for ill, I'm always ready to exploit a loophole or two. The spirit of the law is more important than the letter of it, in my opinion. You're not doing anything wrong, and in my eyes, that means you're innocent, and I'll go to the world’s ends to prove it.”
She reaches out, putting a hand over Zhongli's, and with a smile, Zhongli turns his palm over to squeeze her fingers affectionately.
“I am lucky,” he says quietly.
Yanfei's eyes soften briefly before, with a clearing of her throat, she lets go.
“I think you need to come clean about being an adeptus,” she admits, her tone serious once more. “We can have Xiao and Auntie Xianyun testify, seeing as their identities as adepti are known to Lady Keqing.”
“I am willing,” Xiao immediately agrees.
“I am not opposed either,” Xianyun says.
“It seems that there is no better way at the moment,” Zhongli allows.
“I'm sure that the Yuheng and the prosecution are trustworthy,” Moon Carver soothes him. “They will keep it to themselves.”
Having attained their agreement, Yanfei gives a satisfied nod. “It’s decided then,” she declares firmly, and offers a mischievous wink. “Now, here's the plan…”
And so, gathered around a— perhaps ill-advisedly purchased table of red sandalwood, the five adepti lean in to listen to Yanfei’s hushed instructions.