Archive of Our Own ^beta

Progress is not linear. When one climbs a mountain, there always comes a point too steep for further ascension, and the climber often has to descend in order to find a different path. A climber too cocky would scoff at the notion of climbing down, and those are the climbers the adepti often have to save from their own hubris as they fall to what surely would have been their deaths.

It is the same for human progress. For years, society across Teyvat felt stagnant. Technological advances were small and far apart. Traditions and place names remained the same, despite generations coming and going. Then, the traveler swept across the continent, and the centuries following her have been just as swift: invention after invention, cultural whirlwinds across all seven nations. Slowly, legends of the past faded into obscurity, to make way for engines, penicillin, and most concerningly, the internet.

There was only one point, some three hundred years after Lumine had left Teyvat with her brother, that Xiao seriously considered fading away as well. Rex Lapis had been dead for centuries by then, but Zhongli had stayed, too enamoured with being a human he overlooked death, the most crucial part. Until the day he sought Xiao, still secluded from civilization, and for the first time the adeptus could see grey in his hair, wrinkles around his eyes. He knew then even without being told.

Zhongli had freed him from his contract in that meeting, and for the first time in his life Xiao had a choice. Even now, having completely assimilated into modern Teyvat life, he’s uncertain if he has made the right one.

Having received the fifteenth text from Hu Tao in less than ten minutes, he’s more than willing to believe he has made entirely the wrong one.

“Damnit,” he curses as the phone, loudly ringing against the table, distracts him just long enough for him to lose the match. For a moment he seriously considers hurling the controller and his phone at his screen, but the memory of Ganyu’s disappointed face as she had to lend him money to get new ones stays his hand.

Ignoring the chat, which is rapidly both encouraging him and throwing insults his way, he snatches his phone and prepares himself to delete whichever obnoxious selfies the woman sent him this time, only to pause as he sees the same link sent to him over and over again.

“The National Museum of Liyue is proud to present a new exhibition…” is the only thing he can see from the link’s preview. He knows Ganyu likes to keep track of new archaeological and historical research and discoveries, but he hardly shares the same passion.

If Hu Tao has been mistexting this whole time… he swears to himself again. His fingers move to delete the texts anyway, but before he can his phone receives an incoming call, and he finds himself automatically answering it.

“I was about to start spamming your chat if you weren’t going to answer me, but then I saw you lose so pathetically I just knew you must have seen the link.”

“Your incessant texts kept distracting me, what do you want?”

He can hear the glee in her voice as she says: “So you haven’t opened the link?”

“No, I—”

“Perfect, do it right now while I’m on call so I can hear your reaction.”

He almost hangs up on her right there and then, but from past experience he knows that it will just incentivize her further. With Hu Tao, the path of least resistance almost always yielded the most results. Sighing, he closes his stream with his free hands as he clicks on the link, which brings him to what he assumes is the National Museum of Liyue’s website.

He reads the title and subheader once, twice, three times, before it fully registers.

“Fuck.”

New permanent exhibition opens at the NMoL

Huangshan, head curator of the NMoL, has announced earlier today that a new permanent exhibition will be opened in the Alcor building, which has been standing empty since it was first opened earlier this year. Huangshan had been repeatedly claiming that the museum was waiting for a truly spectacular maiden voyage for the building, and it seems like its time has finally arrived.

Love in the Time of Adepti will display a collection of 22 letters which have been recently discovered in a dig in the archaeological site of Qingce, which was a prospering village about 2,000 years ago, but has long since declined to ruin. The letters date back 700 to 500 years ago, and according to the museum’s research team, have all been written by the same person. Therefore, the identity of the author must be that of an immortal.

“It’s an absolutely astonishing discovery,” says Professor Lao Cai, one of the leading archaeologists on the dig. “The adepti have not left almost any records written by themselves. All we know of them is from other contemporary sources.”

That the letters are very clearly love letters adds an additional level of intrigue. “The adepti almost always appear in either stories of combat—such as the Archon Wars, or the Osial Resurgence—or philosophical tales of a moral nature, such as the Tales of Moon Carver. That adepti even had notions of romance is previously unheard of.” He adds: “This might be the most important discovery made of the Last Archons Age.”

Love in the Time of Adepti will open on the 20th of the month. Tickets are available…

Xiao has never been much for words. Speaking has always been a struggle: not a physical one, but rather spiritual. He always felt as if his straightforward thoughts and feelings always got caught in a whirlwind somewhere between his head and his mouth. He could be blunt, he could be direct, people often called him rude—but if he tried to be anything else, he found himself being nothing instead.

It was Lumine who first suggested to him writing. Speech is hard for me, she admitted, not a trace of embarrassment in her voice, as if it was a fact of herself she has known about for a very long time. Aether is always the one who would start a conversation. When I speak, I often end them. Xiao, who has never found her to be an unpleasant companion, couldn’t imagine it, but in his silence he let her gift him with writing materials, let her walk him through her own process of writing.

You could write about anything you would like, she said, but I often find it much easier if I can imagine a person I’m writing to. Doesn’t really matter who it is, though… she trailed off then, but Xiao didn’t need her to confirm who it was she was talking about. He was sure there was an entire mountain of unsent letters to her brother kept in the same domain she kept her weapons and treasures.

He only picked it up again after she had left. In that quiet, empty span of time when the world was still trying to catch its bearing after the fall of Celestia, Xiao found himself wielding a pen instead of a polearm, and carving in ink instead of blood.

It was then that he found out she was right. It was much easier to write when he imagined a face on the other side of the paper; dark-blue hair, green eyes, and a laughter full of music.

National Museum of Liyue ✓ @NMoL

Pre-orders for tickets for our new exhibition “Love in the Time of Adepti” are finally open! Click on the link to secure your booking now —> http://bit.ly/XXXXX

3:22 PM · Sep 29, 2021·Tvitter for Web client

8.7K Retweets   567 Quote Tweets    10.2K Likes

Ji Tong - new book out now! @JiTooong

I’ve had the absolute privilege to get an early showing of the new NMoL exhibition “Love in the Time of Adepti” and here are my thoughts. TL;DR: more than a more enlightened historical understanding, I found myself pondering the nature of humanity, love, and all their intersections. (1/10)

5:30 PM · Sep 29, 2021·Tvitter for Web client

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Aloice @Aesir_Falling

is it true that they found love letters WRITTEN BY AN ACTUAL ADEPTI?? THEY MUST BE SOOOOOO ROMANTIC

rai @beiguaangs

@Aesir_Falling NOT JUST ANY ADEPTI - THE FREAKING LAST YAKSHA

yearning for a nap @jade_jaguarr

okay I can’t find this information anywhere - can anyone confirm does the last yaksha is gay

Kal @Kalculousss

@jade_jaguarr I understand that this is a joke, but I must point out that it would be wrong and historically inaccurate to project terms such as “gay” into historical figures from ages past. First of all, the Last Yaksha would have had no concept of being “gay”- (1/10)

                     yearning for a nap @jade_jaguarr

                     @Kalculousss if you understood that this was a joke why did you have to write an entire thesis about it

no.1 pirate lover @elliewritess

omg omg omg who wants to come with me to love in the time of adepti?? my friends at school think that well go for sure on a school trip but i dont want to wait that long :(

no.2 pirate lover @pinkponk

@elliewritess lmao NERD. of course ill come with!!!

no.1 pirate lover @elliewritess

hey tvitter what does it mean if your gay crush is offering to come with you to the gay adepti love letters exhibition-

1:22 AM · Sep 30, 2021·Tvitter for mobile

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Yanfei is the second person to approach him about the exhibition.

"If you would like, I could build a case for you."

Xiao doesn’t even bother to raise his head from the book he’s reading. “No, thank you.”

“Seriously, there are several precedents and case studies. Those letters are legally yours, and the museum could be liable to pay compensation—”

“Yanfei. No.” He hears her take a seat opposite him at the table, and sighs inwardly. He should have known it wouldn’t be that easy to shake her off. Closing his book, he finally takes a look at her: dressed as she is in a smart suit, she looks like she just stepped out of the court. Decidedly out of place in the tiny cafe next to his flat, which tends to mostly cater to Xiao and maybe three other clients a day, at most.

“Hu Tao seems to think you’re upset about it.”

“Hu Tao seems to think many things,” he answers dryly. He has long since resigned himself to be the subject of gossip amongst his companions. He’s unfortunately more than aware of the little group chat they share with Ganyu. “I’m fine.”

“Hmm.” She scrutinizes him, and he makes sure to sit still. Yanfei, with centuries under her belt of judicial experience, is a force of observational nature. He mustn’t give her any openings.

Unlike the rest of them, Yanfei is the only one who has not undergone any massive employment changes in the last few centuries. Hu Tao seems to be changing jobs every other week, and Ganyu has grown too curious of the modern world to remain at any one job for too long, but Yanfei breathes and lives law, as strange as it might seem. A Yanfei outside of court is not any Yanfei that Xiao knows.

“So you’re just going to let the exhibition go ahead?”

Xiao shrugs. “They’re old letters. They have nothing to do with me anymore.”

And it’s true, in a certain sense. The Xiao who wrote those letters was weary and sad, and hopelessly in love. He has known nothing of the world beyond his duty, and yet he yearned for it anyway. He imagines trying to explain to him what an Xbox is. It makes his lips twitch in fond derision. His life as it is now is beyond that Xiao’s wildest imagination.

“And the letters’ recipient?” Yanfei probes him further. “They could have a case for them as well, although it might be more complicated to prove in court.”

Xiao closes his eyes, and doesn’t let himself feel anything when he says: “He would not care.” In fact, Venti would probably find it funny. He can almost imagine it, with his eyes closed like this: the way he would laugh if he read the article, his grins at the topic trending on social media. He always loved the attention.

He hears Yanfei sigh. “I suppose… if you really have no grievance with it, I won’t pursue the matter. Are you going to go?”

This is a much, much more difficult question to answer. “You won’t believe me if I say no,” he says as he opens his eyes to look at her. She smiles at him.

“I won’t believe you if you say yes, either.”

Love in the Time of Adepti: an ephemeral exploration of love

by: Ji Tong

A few weeks ago I was offered a special preview to the National Museum of Liyue’s new much-talked about exhibition, Love in the Time of Adepti. The exhibition’s announcement has made a splash in both academic circles (with several calls for papers already announced) and the general public (trending in all social media, as well as being the source of countless annoying listicles).

After my sneak-peak, I made a short thread on tvitter about my experience. It was moving just as much as it was educating, but I thought that was all I had to say on that matter.

Last night’s opening made me reconsider.

Love in the Time of Adepti is not your regular museum exhibition. Instead of simply resting behind glass cases with long-winded plaques neatly stationed beside them, the NMoL has made use of the latest technologies to make the exhibition a technicolored masterpiece. Each of the 22 discovered letters has its own glass container, in which, using anemo energy, the letter remains floating in the air as it slowly rotates, allowing visitors to read both sides of the sometimes quite long missives. There is very little additional information in the exhibition — no clarifying plaques or posters, just a simple inscription of the estimated date on each case.

The experience created is quite dizzying. The slow rotation forces visitors to rotate themselves as well, to be active agents in consuming the words. There are no other distractions. The background music (specially commissioned from Blanche Cyrus, one of Mondstadt’s most lauded composers) is soft, although I would not describe it as gentle. Rather, it plays as a perfect companion to the words that survived on the letters, which tell of devotion mingled with sorrow, duty contrasted with intimacy.

Throughout the night, I found myself returning to letter number 19 again and again (the museum neglected to give the letters names, preferring to number them in a chronological order. Huangshan, the museum’s curator, explained that the letters have their own narratives, and the museum’s team was reluctant to indirectly alter it).

The letter begins with the anonymous adepti writer describing what sounds like a gruelling fight against a geovishap (another exciting discovery, as geovishaps were only ever theorized upon, as no bones or even fossils were ever found). The writer then laments:

There is no fight I would not fight for Liyue, no demon I would not slay. But there is a growing discontent in me. I am afraid of what it must mean. I’m afraid of what it will bring with it.

You spoke to me of freedom. I know you must pity me, as if I do not know its meaning. I never knew how to explain to you that I do, but it’s as different from your definition of the word as the glaze lily is from the common weed. You speak of freedom as a song. I know freedom only as the complete abandonment of all senses.

I do not believe there is beauty in it. And you deserve such beautiful things.

In Liyue, we speak with such reverence and awe of the adepti, but rarely do we consider the reality of their lives, especially those of the Yaksha, as the writer of the letter is theorized to be. It is much easier to read of heroic deeds, instead of crushing despair. Popular culture often offers us only one image: that of dashing, silent heroes, such as the ones depicted in movies like Rise of the Guardians (dir. Gao Fei) and Adepti vs. Osial (1, 2, and that awful third one that should have never been made, dir. Meng Dan).

That those letters offer us a different perspective, that they allow us to see the adepti as people, and not just heroes — it is absolutely worth the ticket price and more.

Call for Papers: On the Nature of Adeptal Philosophy and Love

The free online conference aims to bring together researchers interested in both old and new discoveries of contemporary writings to the Adeptal Period. We welcome papers exploring new methodological and theoretical approaches on Adepti writing. Possible themes include:

• How were Adeptis depicted through outside perspectives, and how does that compare to the few examples of writing we have from the Adeptis themselves?
• How does the romantic aspect of love fit into existing theories of Adeptal philosophies? How does it defer from other aspects of love? (familial, national, religious, etc.)
• How did the Adepti function inside a wider array of immortal networks? What evidence do we have to suggest they were aware of immortals in other nations?
• How have socio-economic and political priorities influenced Adepti actions, and what is the impact of the structural changes Liyue underwent in the wake of the Osial Resurgence?

Please submit abstracts...

1-20 of 115 in Anonymous Adepti/Anonymous Lover

Like Stars in the Night Sky by magicites

“You sit on top of the Stone Gate, and you play music for the stars. And every single one of them is listening.” - letter number 7.

or: an adepti and a human bard meet at the border between countries.

no.1 pirate lover (NOW WITH A GF) @elliewritess

i cant believe ao3 already has more than 100 fics for the adepti letters…. but also i CAN believe it theyre so freaking romantic.

no.2 pirate lover (NOW WITH A GF) @pinkponk

@elliewritess BABE did you see the theory going around that the letters were meant for an archon of a different country??

no.1 pirate lover (NOW WITH A GF) @elliewritess

@pinkponk WAIT WHAT

BuzzFeed @BuzzFeed

Everyone on the internet is losing their goddamn mind over the new exhibition in the NMoL, and here are ten reasons why 👇

3:05 PM · Oct 3, 2021·Tvitter for Web client

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🍒 @lovecherrimagic

the second @NMoL releases a bound volume of all the adepti letters it’s OVER for me

5:46 PM · Oct 10, 2021·Tvitter for Mobile

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tar ⭐ @yeetoldy

I like to think that eventually the last yaksha got to chu his lover. i like to think that because otherwise i’ll go insane

8:27 PM · Oct 10, 2021·Tvitter for Mobile

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A few weeks after its opening, Love in the Time of Adepti is still almost sold out most days. Xiao has been biding his time, hoping to go when it’s less crowded, but when it has already been two months and no signs of reduced foot traffic, he bites his tongue and orders the tickets online.

Despite Hu Tao, Yanfei, and Ganyu all offering to accompany him, he declines and elects to go on his own. He isn’t sure what his reaction would be, seeing his own words reflected back at him through the glass, but he knows he would rather not have an audience for it.

The new Alcor building is shiny and bright against the midday sun. Xiao can’t help but smile a little at seeing the building’s name inscribed on its entrance. It seems fitting that the name remains as a tribute, even if the woman who once championed it has been long dead. Despite the centuries, he still remembers Tianquan Ningguang, who first established the museum, gifting her wayward lover with the gesture. Venti had dragged him to the opening, and he at least found the whole thing very romantic, even if the Captain had been less than impressed.

“She doesn’t get it,” he had sighed, leaning his head against Xiao’s as they both watched Captain Beidou yell, flustered. “It’s not about her reputation now. It’s about it being everlasting.” He was right, of course, as he so often was.

Entering the building, he’s pleased to find it relatively empty, owning no doubt to the early hour. There are many benefits to e-sports and streaming being his main sources of income, but by far the best is the flexible working hours. Before he knows it, he has given his ticket and received a booklet in turn, which he promptly stuffs into his backpack. He can barely stomach seeing his own words today—he can’t imagine trying to read someone else’s. Taking a deep breath, he steps into the exhibition.

Walking through glass cases reflecting words a thousand years removed from him is a surreal experience. His eyes trace across the precise brushstrokes, the faded paper. There are decades of memories trapped behind the glass, hours of cramped wrists and a feverish mind. A museum is a reflection of time, but Xiao himself always thought of himself as a locked time capsule. Now, all around him there are—leaks of who he used to be.

“You know, we could have gotten a discount on the tickets if we got the 1+1 deal.”

Somehow, even though Xiao hasn’t thought about it consciously, he can’t find it in himself to feel surprised that Venti is here. Still, he has to ask, even before he turns to look at him: “How did you know when I would be here?”

“I got Yanfei to hack your email.”

“She would not.”

“Nah, you’re right. It was Hu Tao.” Of course it was. Xiao gives himself a moment to fortify himself before he turns to look at the face he hasn’t seen for hundreds of years.

To the untrained eye, Venti hasn’t changed much. Still the same black-blue hair, even if it’s in a different, more modern hairstyle. Still the same heart-shaped face. No hat, and the clothes are different, but if Xiao squints he can almost superimpose the person he remembers on the person that is here now. He looks so, so beautiful.

The eyes though—the eyes are different. Tired, or maybe… just weary. Xiao can relate.

“Venti.”

“Xiao.” Venti crosses his arms behind his back, stretching lightly. “I have to admit, I’ve never imagined our first meeting in so long to happen in a museum.”

“You’ve imagined us meeting again?”

Venti looks at him, surprised. “Of course I did. You didn’t?”

The answer is both yes, and no. Because for a very long time, Xiao did; again and again, different times and places and configurations. He imagined sad reunions and happy ones, and every once in a while dreamt of tragic ones, full of blood and ashes. But then centuries passed, and one day he woke up and thought it’s been too long. He has seen nature claim too many abandoned buildings to not know what happens to things left alone for too long.

He shrugs instead of saying any of it outloud, and Venti takes it as an answer, the same way he always did. “Not that I’m complaining, of course,” he says. “Museums can be romantic! And people certainly claim this is a very romantic exhibition.”

Xiao refuses to blush. “You’ve been online.”

Venti smiles at him indulgently. “It’s impossible not to be, these days.” He takes out a sleek phone from his back pocket and unlocks it, turning the screen around to show Xiao. Tabs upon tabs of articles, blog posts, social media accounts. And there, in the corner—

“You’ve been watching my streams?”

“Of course! You know I’ve always enjoyed watching your fights, even if these days they’re more virtual in nature.” He sighs, theatrically despondent. “Not quite the same, not being able to see you sweat for it, but I make do.”

Before Xiao could begin to answer—before Xiao could even begin to think of an answer—a polite cough interrupts him, and he realizes they’ve been blocking access to the glass case for quite a while now. He apologizes quietly and steers them to the corner, right under one of the badly hidden speakers. The music is soft enough that it is still possible to have a conversation, but loud enough that it would make it harder for anyone to overhear.

The reviews were right: It is a beautiful melody.

Venti lets himself be led, docile enough, but when they get situated again he looks at Xiao oddly seriously. “You didn’t think I would be keeping tabs on you.”

“Why would you?”

“Why would I indeed,” Venti mutters to himself. To Xiao, he says: “So you have no idea what I’ve been up to, huh?” When Xiao shakes his head, he laughs softly. “What if I tell you I’m a popular idol? Or, no, maybe I’ve gotten into politics! Maybe I’ve become a famous shogi player…”

“Easy enough to google,” Xiao says. “I’m not as easy to prank these days.” They would make a game of it, in the old days. Venti would tell him such outlandish stories, and it was Xiao’s job not to fall for it over and over again. Towards the end, he managed maybe two out of three times, which Venti has declared was commendable progress.

“I suppose you aren’t,” Venti says wistfully. “It’s been so long… I suppose many things about you aren’t what I would expect.”

The nature of time and the nature of progress; of course. But in that moment Xiao shares Venti’s grief for the people they used to be—for the Xiao who wrote those letters, and for the Venti who never got to read them.

“Not that I expected this, either,” Venti adds before the mood could become too maudlin. “Letters! Love letters, at that! I never knew you were a secret poet.”

“You read them?”

“Some,” Venti replies, and immediately begins to recite:

The winter nights of Liyue are very long. The sound of the silver birds against the sky is very loud. The light of Stormterror’s Lair paints their wings an eerie, bright blue. They have all the time in the world, and filled with tomorrows.

Xiao is sure his face is bright red. “Shut up.”

“No, no! It’s beautiful, really. I’m not making fun, I promise.” Venti leans against the wall, still looking at Xiao with his green, green eyes. “Why did you never send any of them to me?”

And that was the real question, wasn’t it? The archeology team might have found only 22 of them, but Xiao remembered hundreds of letters: each one written by careful hand and careful thought. Each one unsent.

“We were no longer together.”

“Some of those were written before that,” Venti counters. “I can tell. I would have loved to have read them, Xiao.”

He knows. Knew even then. But there was an instrumantable gap between what he knew and what he was capable of, in those days. That Xiao was incapable of so much.

Venti waits for him to answer, and when he fails to do so, he sighs. “Do you remember why we broke up, Xiao?”

From the corner of his eye he can see letter number 20, rotating slowly in its case. It would be foolish to say he remembers the letters by heart—it has been too long, and his life has been so full—but he read it again just before Venti found him.

I ask for too much, expect too little, and offer almost nothing. You gave me freedom and song and time, and all I could bring to you was blood and carnage. You’re too kind for it to have mattered to you, but it mattered to me. It mattered to me so much that it eclipsed everything else. I love and love and love, and it never seems enough for me to give you.

“I couldn’t give you what you wanted.” It slips out of his mouth, unbidden, and he immediately wants to swallow it back down. It sounds more accusatory than he wants it too—more accusatory than he could ever feel. He understood then, just as he understands now.

But Venti shakes his head. “You couldn’t give yourself what you wanted,” he corrects, gently but firmly. “You had me, and I had you. How could I have wanted anything else? But you were always so sure that I wasn’t happy. And eventually it seemed to me you might be happier if your predictions came true.”

He thinks of who he used to be. Of the man who could only express himself writing letters he would never send, who thought himself incapable of softness and beauty. And he thinks of the man he is now—still awkward and lonely by nature, but one who has shelves of little animal wooden sculptures he dusts regularly; who has weekly brunch with Ganyu, and fancy dinners with Yanfei whenever she is in town; who has a streaming schedule he is dedicated to, but no longer do his responsibilities eclipse everything else. He has a favorite candle scent, and he likes to take long showers, and camp every once in a while, when the city’s noise gets too loud.

He is full now, where once he was empty.

“I think I lived everyday waiting for it to end.”

“You did. And I didn’t want to shackle you to anything—not even to happiness.”

Because Venti, above all else, is kind to a fault. Too kind, when maybe Xiao needed him not to be. But for all that Xiao is immortal, he isn't a god. Change comes more easily to him than it does Barbatos.

“Still,” Venti continues. “Things might have been different if I had read—all this.” He gestures at the letters around them, and once again Xiao is hit with an odd sense of vertigo. Past and present, colliding all around him. Perhaps it’s this spiraling sensation that urges him to ask:

“Is it different now that you’ve read them?”

Venti looks at him, curious. “I would not expect you to still feel the same. It has been decades.”

Change might come to him more easily, but that doesn’t mean everything could change. “I do,” he says, with the ease of a man who is now the anonymous poster child of romance all across Liyue. What more does he have to hide? “And you?”

Venti steps closer to him. “There is no part of me that doesn’t love you. No part of me that was made not to love you. My love for you is etched into my very core.” It’s embarrassing to hear his own written words reflected at him in Venti’s voice, but Xiao is distracted by the hand that raises to cup his face, the thumb that strokes his cheek. “Oh, Xiao, do you really need to ask?”

They kiss, surrounded by love letters that have waited centuries to be read. It’s the same as Xiao remembers it—the hint of the taste of apples, wind brushing against his lips—but wholly different at the same time. Where once it might have consumed him, now he can sink into it slowly, savoring every sensation, every moment. Venti’s lips are soft against his, lightly chapped. His scent is cinnamon-sweet. There’s so much about him that Xiao doesn’t know now, where he once knew everything. Where does he live, what does he do? Has he found a single profession he’s passionate about, like Yanfei, or has he been fleeting from job to job, like Xiao? Does he still play? What does he think of electronic music? Is he one of those snobs who refuse to call it music at all, or has he embraced it?

There’s so much about Xiao that Venti doesn’t know either. The answers to all of those questions: a small but comfortable flat in one of the city’s quieter areas; that he has been getting restless, lately, but that he thinks he will stick with streaming a little while longer; he does still play the flute, but the second disused bedroom is also full to the brim with other instruments; he likes electronic music, although it can give him a headache if he listens to it too long. So much else too. So much else he can tell him about, instead of writing it down in letters that he will never send.

Later, after the guard kicks them out for their public display of affection (“The fifth time this week,” they hear him mutter as he walks them out. “What’s with this exhibition?”) Xiao takes him to his favorite coffee shop, the one where Yanfei ambushed him what feels like eternity ago. Venti takes it in with wide eyes and an excited grin, and something in Xiao settles at seeing him in this place. The two pieces of his life that he never thought could connect.

“You know, I really did think you might have been there to destroy the place,” Venti remarks as Xiao returns from placing their order.

Xiao rolls his eyes. “Ridiculous. I would get arrested.”

“Ah, I do miss the days when we could do whatever we wanted without fear of judicial retribution,” Venti sighs wistfully, adding truly nauseating amounts of sugar to his coffee. Xiao can’t help but look at him fondly. “I suppose that’s the price we must pay for the convenience of mobile phones and terrible daytime television.”

“I wouldn’t have destroyed it even if I could,” he says. “Those letters—they no longer belong to me.”

“My, so generous!”

Xiao shrugs. “They seem to bring others comfort. Humans are still as absurd as ever.”

Venti hums in thought. “I think you’re underestimating how beautiful your writing is. And the power of romantic historical imagining.” He takes a sip of his coffee and his eyes widen in surprise. “Wow, this is good!”

“This coffee shop has been owned by the same family for generations. I’ve been coming here for a long time.”

“And they were never curious about the mysterious beautiful man who never ages?”

“They never asked.”

Venti laughs. “Ah, I do love humans so.” He smiles at Xiao. “I’m glad they can now also experience your love, although I have to admit, I do find myself a little jealous.”

Xiao huffs, amused. “You have nothing to be jealous about.”

“I have everything to be jealous about!” he declares, capturing Xiao’s hand with one of his own, placing it gently over the table. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, I’m now dating one of Liyue’s most prolific poets. The anonymous adepti has mastered the use of minimal words needed to deliver maximum impact. That’s from the Liyue Times. Did you know you have fanfiction? You’re kind of a big deal.”

“You’ve been online for too long.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Venti agrees. He squeezes Xiao’s hand. “Maybe I can be persuaded to be less online from now on, though.”

“Maybe.”

“And maybe you could write some new letters. Ones that are just for me.”

As Xiao mumbles his assent against Venti’s laughing lips, he thinks that maybe there are a few more letters in him after all.