Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The depths of the Chasm loomed with jagged rock formations and eerie remnants of past excavations. Faint traces of luminescent crystals twinkled within the shadows, casting a soft glow against the damp stone. Despite its unsettling beauty, the Chasm remained a place of caution—a restricted zone marred by unstable terrain and lingering remnants of ancient corruption. Only those with sanctioned permits were allowed access.

Yanfei, the renowned legal advisor of Liyue, carefully trod the uneven ground, her horns peeking from beneath her hat. She had been dispatched to investigate a recent dispute over excavation rights—a matter that required not only legal expertise but also a firm presence to ensure the law was upheld. With her expertise in legal codes and contracts, Yanfei had seen her fair share of complex cases… but none had prepared her for what lay ahead.

It was a striking anomaly, really.

Just ahead, near the base of a fractured rock wall, a small figure lay motionless. Yanfei’s brows furrowed as she approached, her sharp eyes scanning the unfamiliar sight. A little girl was curled up on the cold, rocky ground.

But how? Yanfei’s heart pounded. No child should be here. The Chasm was dangerous even for experienced miners, with unstable terrain and lurking threats. A thousand questions raced through her mind as she rushed towards the little girl and knelt down beside her.

The dim light caught strands of the child’s long, violet hair, cascading like silk against the rough stone. Her fair complexion stood in stark contrast to the grimy surroundings, unblemished as though untouched by the harsh elements. Her delicate frame rising and falling with the steady rhythm of sleep.

Thank goodness, Yanfei let out a sigh of relief. The little girl looks all alright and is just sleeping.

Then, upon closer examination, Yanfei took note of the child’s clothing. Though slightly rumpled, it was made of fine silk. The delicate embroidery shimmered faintly under the cave’s glow, intricate patterns carefully stitched along the fabric. The silk’s pristine quality was unmistakable — clearly, the child was from a well-off family. No commoner could afford such craftsmanship.

And then Yanfei froze.

Horns.

A pair of delicate, curling horns peeked from beneath the girl's hair. Smooth and polished, with a deep black hue with faint crimson red traced along the inner edges, glowing softly like dying embers.

Small, and unmistakably reminiscent of …

Yanfei knew only one person who bore such a feature.

“No way…” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Before she could gather her thoughts, the child stirred. Drowsy eyes fluttered open — eyes of a striking, serene shade of pale blue with hints of violet and pinkish gold, the very color Yanfei had seen countless times before.

“Auntie Yanfei!”

The little girl’s voice rang with innocent delight, her tiny lips curling into a smile. Yanfei stiffened, the words hitting her. She had never seen this child before. Not once.

Yet the child knew her.

“Okay,” Yanfei exhaled, though her mind swirled with confusion. Adjusting her hat, she forced a calm smile. "Let’s head to the Harbor, shall we?"

Yanfei extended her hand, which the girl quickly accepted without hesitation.

Many questions swirled in Yanfei's mind, but one thing was certain — her instincts told her that the answers awaited them in Liyue Harbor.

>>><<< 

The familiar hum of Liyue Harbor greeted Yanfei as she stepped onto the bustling stone path, the afternoon sun casting a golden hue over the vibrant stalls and winding streets. Merchants called out their wares, the scent of grilled skewers and freshly steamed buns filling the air.

Normally, Yanfei would welcome the comforting liveliness of her hometown, but today, her mind was elsewhere.

The little girl at her side clung to her hand, her oh-so-familiar violet hair shimmering under the sun. She gazed at the world around her with sharp and piercing gaze with a glint of curiosity, as though everything was brand new. Passersby spared curious glances their way, though none lingered long. After all, it wasn’t unusual for Yanfei, Liyue’s well-known legal advisor, to be seen around the Harbor. But what was unusual was the child walking beside her—a child who bore an uncanny resemblance to someone they knew far too well.

Yanfei’s throat tightened. She needed to be sure. There was no other way.

She slowed her steps, carefully turning toward the little girl. The child tilted her head, her tiny horns glinting with streaks of black and crimson. Yanfei inhaled sharply. The resemblance… it was undeniable.

Still, she had to ask.

“Hey, um…” Yanfei crouched down to meet the girl’s gaze, her green eyes narrowing slightly in hesitation. She opened her mouth, the name hovering uncertainly on her tongue. "So what did you say your name was again? Qin...yu..., Qinyu was it?" she asked, her voice deliberately even, though every syllable trembled with uncertainty.

The little girl blinked. And then, she giggled.

“Auntie Yanfei, stop playing games!” Her voice was light and sweet, filled with amusement. She squeezed Yanfei’s hand tighter, her delicate fingers wrapping around Yanfei’s own. “You know my name! Why are you pretending you don’t?”

Yanfei's breath caught. The familiarity in the child’s tone was unsettling—warm, trusting, as though they had shared a bond that Yanfei couldn't remember. Her lips parted, but no words came out. The name 'Qinyu' lingered in her mind, looping over and over like an unsolved riddle.

Coincidence? No. No. No. Yanfei wasn't one to believe in coincidences.

Her eyes traced over the girl's features once more.

That soft violet hair, cascading down like silk. That well-defined jawline. The child’s sharp, discerning gaze—so strikingly familiar in shape—yet their color gleamed with an ethereal, luminous hue, like the glimmer of a golden sky meeting the sea.

It held a sense of familiarity that churned Yanfei's stomach.

Then, there were the small, delicate horns, black with a crimson hue…

Yanfei had seen those horns before—though not this small, not this innocent. Her mind raced, recollecting memories of the two people who bore these unmistakable traits. She just forced a laugh as a response, though it sounded far too strained to be convincing.

“Ah, of course, of course. Just teasing you, little one.” She ruffled the girl’s hair in an attempt to mask the unease curling in her stomach. “Sorry about that.”

The little girl beamed, clearly unbothered. Yanfei’s mind, however, remained in turmoil. This time, she steadied herself. If she was going to get to the bottom of this, she needed to face it head-on. The name came more resolutely from her lips, firm but gentle.

“Qinyu.”

The little girl’s expression softened with familiarity, her smile growing even brighter. “Mm!” she chirped.

Yanfei’s hands curled slightly, the weight of uncertainty settling heavily on her shoulders. She wanted to dismiss it—to believe this was just some strange coincidence—but the more she looked at the child, the harder it became to deny the truth staring back at her.

“Alright,” Yanfei exhaled, her voice lowering. “Since you’re such a smart girl, can you answer something for me?”

“Of course!” The girl puffed her chest out proudly, as though eager to prove herself.

Yanfei hesitated for a fraction of a second. Then, carefully, she asked the one question that might reveal everything.

“Where’s your mother?”

The innocent sparkle in the little girl’s eyes didn’t fade. Instead, she beamed up at Yanfei with unwavering certainty.

“Mama? She’s with Mommy, of course!”

Yanfei’s breath caught. Mommy? Mama? Before she could respond, the child continued, swaying her hand playfully.

"Mommy doesn’t know I sneaked out inside the Chasm, so don’t tell Mommy. She can be quite scary when angry," the little girl whispered, her voice conspiratorial, though there was a mischievous glint in her eyes. “I was just about to leave, but I felt sleepy and took a nap. And then Auntie Yanfei found me! Isn't that funny?”

Funny wasn’t the word Yanfei would use. Her thoughts spun rapidly, questions piling up one after another. Mama and Mommy?

“Right,” Yanfei managed, trying to keep her voice steady. “And ummm… who are they, little one? Your Mama and Mommy?”

The girl’s giggle was soft, like chiming bells.

“You’re playing games again, Auntie.”

Yanfei forced a laugh, though it came out strained. She rubbed the back of her neck, releasing a slow sigh. This is going to be a long day.

“Okay,” she said, voice softening. “How about we head to the Yujing Terrace first? Maybe… maybe we’ll find your Mama and Mommy there.”

The girl beamed, nodding eagerly. “Okay! Let’s go!”

And with that, Qinyu reached for Yanfei’s hand once more, holding on tightly. Yanfei gave her one last uneasy glance before leading her through the bustling streets of Liyue Harbor.

This was only the beginning.

 >>><<<

The Yujing Terrace stood tall above the harbor, its elegant golden rooftops gleaming beneath the afternoon sun. Ornate pillars and delicate carvings lined the courtyard, the scent of incense lingering in the air. Merchants and courtiers shuffled about, their conversations low and murmured, but Yanfei barely noticed.

"Wow," Qinyu whispered, her violet eyes wide with awe. She gazed around the terrace, taking in every detail. "It looks different."

Yanfei blinked. "Different?"

The little girl just nodded. Yanfei’s brows knit in confusion, a dozen questions swirling in her mind. But she quickly forced a smile, pushing them aside — for now.

"Well…, things change sometimes, kiddo," she said, giving the child’s hand a reassuring squeeze.

Before she could dwell on it further, the weight of several curious stares fell upon them. The crowded terrace had grown noticeably quieter as people exchanged glances, whispers flitting from one person to another.

Yanfei cleared her throat. "Okay, okay, I get it. She’s cute. But we’re in a hurry." She shot the onlookers a dry smile, then turned to the nearest attendant. "Do you know where Ganyu is?"

The woman gave a polite bow. "I’m afraid Secretary Ganyu is currently attending to official matters outside the Harbor. She won’t return until this evening."

Yanfei bit back a sigh. "Really? Talk about bad timing. What about Lady Keqing?"

Another attendant, this time a young man, quickly responded. "Lady Keqing is on an expedition. She departed early this morning. We’re unsure when she will return."

Yanfei’s shoulders sagged. She knew the two were dedicated to their duties, but the timing couldn’t have been worse.

"Great," she muttered, rubbing her temple. "Just great."

But before she could utter another word, a small, warm hand squeezed hers. Yanfei looked down to find Qinyu gazing up at her with an innocent smile.

"It’s okay, Auntie Yanfei," the little girl said softly, her voice carrying an unsettling sense of understanding. "They’re always busy. Let’s just wait."

Yanfei's heart gave a small, painful tug. The sweetness in Qinyu's words, paired with her quiet acceptance, was almost too much. For a child so young to speak like that… Still, it wasn't just the words that weighed on Yanfei. It was the certainty in them. No questions, no confusion—just a quiet acknowledgment of a reality she seemed all too familiar with. And now, without a shadow of a doubt, Yanfei knew.

Mama and Mommy. It was clear now who those titles belonged to.

"Alright, little one," Yanfei murmured, forcing a smile. "We'll wait."

The moment they were about to take another step, a voice erupted from behind them—smooth, commanding, and unmistakably familiar.

"So this is what the commotion is all about."

Yanfei's head whipped around. Sure enough, Ningguang stood tall, her pristine white and gold robes flowing elegantly with every movement. Her golden eyes gleamed with curiosity, though there was a faint arch to her brow—a subtle sign of interest, curiosity, and concern.

"Oh, Lady Ningguang," Yanfei greeted, forcing a polite smile despite the growing weight of the situation. Her free hand rested on her hip. "As you can see, I have a bit of a situation here."

Before Ningguang could respond, a delighted voice piped up.

"Auntie Ning?" Qinyu beamed, her sharp heterochromatic eyes sparkling with recognition. She tilted her head, studying the woman intently. Then, with innocent bluntness, she blurted, "You look… younger?"

Ningguang blinked, the poised exterior slipping for a moment as a flicker of surprise crossed her face. But she recovered quickly, her expression smoothing into one of quiet amusement.

"Is that so?" she remarked, her voice even. There was no malice in the child’s words, only curiosity. She gave the child a measured look, though Yanfei could tell the cogs in her mind were already turning. After a pause, Ningguang straightened and spoke decisively. "Bring this child to the Jade Chamber."

Yanfei quickly nodded in understanding.

There was no further need for words. With one last glance at the Yujing Terrace, Yanfei adjusted her grip on Qinyu’s small hand and followed Ningguang as she led the way.

>>><<< 

The midday sun bathed the Wangshu Inn in a golden glow, the faint breeze carrying the distant chatter of merchants from the harbor. Ganyu adjusted the sleeves of her qipao, a sense of relief washing over her as the last of her tasks concluded far earlier than expected. The paperwork was signed, the exchange of goods settled—everything had gone smoother than she had anticipated.

But now that her duties were done, her thoughts had nowhere to go but to the nagging worry lingering in her chest.

Mingyun Village.

Keqing had mentioned it offhandedly, just days ago. Another expedition, another survey to personally oversee. No matter how many times Ganyu gently insisted that the adventurers and hired workers could handle such tasks, Keqing always waved her off, claiming that her presence would ensure things went more efficiently.

Efficient, huh? Yet Ganyu could still remember the last time Keqing returned from one of these so-called ‘efficient’ expeditions—sprained ankle. She couldn’t even walk properly, yet she brushed away concerns with a stubborn, exasperating smile. If Ganyu hadn’t brought Keqing to Bubu Pharmacy at the earliest time, who knows what could have happened?

“It’s just a minor sprain,” Keqing had said, waving dismissively as Ganyu hovered anxiously. “Honestly, I’ve been through worse.”

And despite Ganyu’s countless pleas for her to rest, Keqing was up and about within days, pushing herself like nothing had happened. She let out a sigh, the memory still painfully fresh.

“That woman,” she muttered under her breath, though the fondness beneath her frustration was undeniable.

Mingyun Village wasn’t too far from the inn. It would only take a short walk, and perhaps… just perhaps… she could see for herself that Keqing was alright.

“She’ll just brush me off again,” Ganyu murmured, though her feet had already begun to carry her in the direction of the village.

Still, the idea of Keqing standing out there under the sun, overexerting herself while dismissing any signs of fatigue—it was enough to quicken Ganyu’s steps.

“I’ll just check,” she reasoned softly, even as the distant hills of Mingyun Village loomed closer. “Just to be sure.”

As soon as Ganyu arrived at Mingyun Village, she sighed once more. The sun was beginning its descent, casting golden light across the ruined structures and weathered stone. But her gaze quickly locked on the unmistakable sight before her.

Keqing, with her sword gleaming and her stance poised, stood amidst a group of defeated treasure hoarders. The air crackled with the remnants of her Electro energy, faint sparks still dancing on the ground. The treasure hoarders, groaning and clutching their sides, were sprawled around her, their ill-gotten goods scattered across the dirt.

“The Millelith will be here shortly,” Keqing stated firmly, her voice unwavering despite her slightly labored breathing. “You’d better prepare yourselves.”

The defeated men flinched but said nothing… or more like they can’t speak properly as their mouths still crackled with electricity. Keqing lowered her sword but remained vigilant, her sharp gaze never wavering.

Ganyu sighed, shaking her head. “That woman, really…” she muttered under her breath, a mixture of exasperation and concern filling her chest.

Ganyu stepped closer, her presence gentle yet noticeable. The sounds of the subdued treasure hoarders grumbling under their breath faded into the background as Keqing’s sharp senses picked up on the light footsteps approaching her.

Turning her head, Keqing’s eyes softened in recognition.

“Ganyu?” Her tone carried a trace of surprise. “What are you doing here?”

Ganyu gave a small, shy smile, her hands clasping in front of her. “My meeting at Wangshu Inn ended earlier than expected, so I thought I… I’d come by to check on you.”

A flicker of warmth passed through Keqing’s eyes.

“I appreciate that,” she said, sincerity lining her words. “But really, I’m fine."

Ganyu’s gaze briefly shifted to the bound treasure hoarders sitting sullenly on the ground. “The Ministry of Civil Affairs will handle them from here,” she suggested softly. “You don’t have to do everything yourself. We can go back to the Liyue Harbor together.”

Keqing, however, shook her head as she knelt down, ensuring the knots securing the hoarders were firm.

“I’d rather stay and make sure the apprehension goes smoothly,” she replied. “You should go on ahead, Ganyu.”

A twinge of concern flashed across Ganyu’s face. “But… Keqing, you’re overexerting yourself again. After your ankle…”

Keqing let out a soft sigh, though there was no irritation in it. “Ganyu, you worry too much.” She glanced back at her reassuringly. “I’m fine. Really. You don’t need to wait for me.”

Ganyu’s lips pressed together, her brows furrowed in thought. But before she could argue further, Keqing continued.

“Besides,” the electro user added, adjusting the cuffs of her sleeves, “I still have some work left to do here. I won’t be heading back to the Harbor just yet.”

Ganyu hesitated, her heart torn between her lingering concern and the respect she had for Keqing’s dedication. She knew Keqing well enough to understand that her words wouldn’t change her resolve.

“Alright,” Ganyu finally relented, her voice barely above a whisper. “Just… please be careful.”

Keqing’s expression softened once more. “I will. Thanks for the concern, Ganyu.”

And with that, Ganyu gave one last reluctant glance before turning away, the breeze tugging lightly at her hair as she made her way back toward the Harbor, her thoughts still lingering on the steadfast and stubborn woman she left behind.

Ganyu stepped through the gates of Liyue Harbor, the familiar bustle of merchants and traders surrounding her. But when she finally arrived at the Yujing Terrace… something felt different—off.

It wasn't the usual chatter that greeted her, nor the hum of everyday life. Instead, it was the weight of dozens of amused eyes, lingering far too long, whispers trailing in her wake.

Her steps faltered. Just what had happened while she was away? She barely had a moment to gather her thoughts when a familiar voice called out.

"Lady Ganyu!" Baiwen, one of Ningguang’s ever-dutiful secretaries, approached her in haste, her expression composed yet undeniably tense.

Ganyu's brows knitted in concern. "Baiwen? What’s the matter? Is something wrong?"

"Please," Baiwen inclined her head politely, though her voice carried an air of urgency. "Come with me to the Jade Chamber. Lady Ningguang is expecting you."

The Jade Chamber? Ganyu's heart quickened, a gnawing uneasiness building within her. Ningguang rarely summoned her so suddenly. Was there some kind of crisis? An incident while she was away? Still, she nodded. "Of course. But… may I ask what this is about?"

Baiwen hesitated, carefully choosing her words. "It’s… complicated. But I believe it would be best for you to see it personally rather than hear it from me."

That didn’t help to ease Ganyu’s nerves. If anything, it only worsened them. Without another word, Baiwen led the way. Ganyu followed, the onlooker’s curious gazes remaining fixed on her until they disappeared from view.

Just what awaited her at the Jade Chamber?

>>><<< 

The trip to the Jade Chamber was excruciatingly long. Ganyu's heart pounded with each step, the weight of the unknown gnawing at her.

Baiwen's hurried pace did little to calm her nerves. The towering stone pillars of the Chamber loomed ahead, their grandeur only adding to Ganyu's growing unease. When they finally reached the grand double doors leading to Ningguang's office, Baiwen paused, offering Ganyu a brief glance—a look that told her nothing yet said everything.

"You'll understand once you see it," Baiwen said softly, her hands pushing the heavy doors open.

The sight that greeted Ganyu was not what she expected.

Inside stood Ningguang, poised as ever, though a subtle crease of curiosity marked her expression. Yanfei, standing nearby, fidgeted anxiously, her usual confident demeanor somewhat diminished. But none of that compared to what came next.

"Mama!"

A small, jubilant voice rang through the air. Before Ganyu could even register what was happening, a blur of violet hair rushed towards her. A little girl, no older than four or five, threw herself into Ganyu’s arms she can reach without hesitation, clutching her tightly.

Ganyu stiffened, bewildered. "E-Eh?"

Her wide eyes darted from Ningguang to Yanfei, then to Baiwen and then back to Yanfei then to Ningguang, desperate for an explanation. But they only returned her gaze with equal perplexity.

"We were hoping you could explain, Ganyu-jiejie," Yanfei said, attempting a strained smile. "Because we are just as confused as you are."

Ganyu's gaze dropped to the child now snuggling her legs— the only part where the little girl can reach.

The little girl had soft violet hair cascading down her back, fair skin with a rosy tint, her gaze familiar as well as her eye color. But it was something else that struck Ganyu the most—the small, rounded horns that curved gently from her head.

Familiar.

Far too familiar.

Ningguang’s voice, though calm, held an undeniable curiosity. "You’ll need to explain, Ganyu."

Ganyu’s throat tightened. "I… I don’t know. I don’t understand."

The little girl, unfazed by the tension in the room, beamed up at her with innocent delight.  "Where’s Mommy?"

Ganyu blinked. "Mommy? Who is—"

Her words faltered as she looked at the child once more. That violet hair, that sharp gaze, that jaw…

Her heart sank. The world around her tilted.

No.

This wasn’t possible.

Ganyu's gaze remained fixed on the little girl, her wide heterochromatic eyes trembling as they traced over the child's features. The lavender hair, the unmistakable gradient horns, the same heterochromatic eyes—. It was impossible. She was staring at a child that bore every resemblance to both her and…

But how?

Nothing like this could have happened. No significant moment between her and Keqing—no secret that could have led to something so… monumental. Surely, she would remember. Surely, they would remember.

Yet, the evidence was standing right in front of her, small hands still clinging tightly to her own.

The little girl had called her Mama. The word echoed endlessly in Ganyu's mind, sending her thoughts into chaos.

Ningguang, observing Ganyu’s expression as it shifted from disbelief to panic, let out a long, quiet sigh. The Tianquan's sharp eyes softened, though her commanding presence never wavered.

"Baiwen."

The ever-efficient secretary immediately stepped forward at the sound of her name. "Yes, Lady Ningguang?"

"Send a messenger to deliver a message to the Yuheng," Ningguang instructed, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Inform her that she is to return to the Harbor at once."

Baiwen bowed swiftly, understanding the urgency without further explanation. "At once, my lady."

As Baiwen turned and exited the room, the weight of Ningguang’s words settled heavily upon Ganyu. Her heart pounded. Keqing—what would Keqing say? What would Keqing think? Ganyu felt her hands grow cold, the child’s small, innocent presence only adding to her disorientation.

Ganyu just groans.

"Mama?" The little girl’s voice was soft, uncertain, as her tiny hands gave Ganyu’s a gentle tug.

Ganyu barely managed to look down, her lips parting in a feeble attempt to respond. “Y-yes?”

“Where is Mommy?” the child asked again.

Ganyu lacked words. Just how can she respond to that?

“I… ummm… well…” Ganyu stammered, her eyes flickering toward Ningguang, then to Yanfei, as if either of them could offer guidance. But Ningguang remained stoic, observing in silence, while Yanfei gave an awkward shrug.

Then, with a spark of realization, Yanfei hastily grabbed a piece of parchment from Ningguang’s desk. In a quick, neat script, she wrote down the name that had been uttered earlier. Qinyu.

She held it up, silently mouthing, This is her name.

Ganyu blinked, her gaze lingering on the name. Qinyu. It carried an unsettling familiarity, like an echo from a memory that didn’t exist. But at least now, she wouldn’t stumble.

Gathering herself, Ganyu knelt down to meet the little girl’s eye level, offering the most reassuring smile she could muster.

“Qinyu,” she said softly, the name rolling off her tongue with surprising ease. “Mommy will be here shortly, so let’s wait, okay?” Ganyu replied the best as she could.

Qinyu hummed in glee, a bright and innocent sound that momentarily eased the tension swirling within Ganyu. Her tiny hands clutched the hem of Ganyu's sleeve as she swayed gently, clearly content.

“Come on,” Ganyu urged softly, gesturing towards the nearby couch. “Let’s sit down while we wait.”

Qinyu nodded eagerly, skipping along as Ganyu led her to the plush seat. As they settled, Ganyu instinctively smoothed the girl’s hair, her fingers brushing gently over the violet strands. The resemblance still tugged at her thoughts, but she pushed the unease aside for now.

Then, Qinyu’s small voice broke the quiet. “Mama?”

Ganyu blinked, still adjusting to the unfamiliar title. “Y-yes?”

The little girl fidgeted with the frills of her silk sleeves, her face scrunching in a conflicted expression. “I’m sorry.”

Ganyu tilted her head, concern flickering across her features. “Sorry? For what?”

Qinyu's gaze lowered, her legs swinging slightly over the edge of the couch. “For sneaking out. I know Mommy told me not to go the Chasm alone… but I did. I even slept there until Auntie Yanfei found me.”

Ganyu's lips parted, she finds the confession oddly amusing. Before she could respond, Qinyu's voice softened to a whisper, as if confessing the most grievous of sins.

“But please don’t tell Mommy. She can be really scary when she’s mad.”

The innocence of the plea, combined with the earnest fear in the little girl's eyes, left Ganyu momentarily speechless.

Across the room, Ningguang raised a delicate hand to her lips, a faint yet unmistakable smile tugging at the corners as she muffled a laugh. Yanfei, however, wasn’t so composed. She snickered outright, crossing her arms as her amusement danced openly in her eyes.

Ganyu shot them both a pleading glance, silently begging for support.

But Ningguang simply arched an elegant brow, and Yanfei gave an exaggerated shrug, clearly enjoying the spectacle.

“You’re on your own, Mama Ganyu,” Yanfei teased, her grin widening.

Left with no allies, Ganyu exhaled slowly, summoning whatever composure she could muster.

Ganyu took a deep breath, carefully composing herself.  “Qinyu,” Ganyu began, her voice soft but firm, “You know it’s very dangerous to go somewhere like the Chasm alone. Your Mommy must have told you that for a reason. You have to listen to her, alright? Mommy only wants to keep you safe.”

Qinyu’s little face scrunched in guilt, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. “I know,” she mumbled. “I’m sorry, Mama. I promise I won’t sneak out again.”

Ganyu's expression softened. She reached out, brushing a stray lock of violet hair away from Qinyu's face. “That’s good to hear. I’m sure Mommy will be happy to know you’re safe.”

Qinyu nodded earnestly, though the concern in her eyes remained. Before Ganyu could say more, Yanfei, unable to hold back her curiosity, leaned forward.

“Hey, little one,” Yanfei began, her tone light but probing. “If you weren’t supposed to be there, how did you end up in the Chasm? And how did you manage to wander around like that? You seemed pretty comfortable in there.”

At the question, Qinyu fidgeted, her gaze darting away as if contemplating whether to answer. She opened her mouth, then closed it, her tiny fingers wringing the hem of her dress.

"But... Mommy told me not to tell Mama," she mumbled under her breath.

That, of course, only made the adults more curious. "We won't tell your Mommy," Ningguang said smoothly, though the slight amusement in her tone suggested otherwise. "But it would be helpful for us to know, wouldn't it?"

Yanfei nodded in agreement. "Exactly. Just to make sure you're safe."

Then, Ganyu looked at the little girl. “Qinyu,” she says softly as is urging her.

Faced with the collective encouragement, Qinyu's resolve crumbled. With a reluctant sigh, she finally confessed.

"Fine. Sometimes Mommy brings me with her to her work," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "She says I might find it useful in the future."

The room fell silent for a moment as the realization dawned on them.

Ganyu just groans.

"Of course," Yanfei said, shaking her head with an exasperated laugh. "She’s already teaching the next Yuheng, and at such a young age."

"How very like her," Ningguang mused, the faintest smirk tugging at her lips.

But before they could dwell further, Qinyu added with a firm nod, "But Mommy made it super clear that I shouldn't go there without her! I just... I just wanted to see the machines and artifacts there one more time. I didn't mean to cause trouble."

Ningguang, Yanfei, and Ganyu exchanged puzzled glances. The Chasm was undoubtedly a mysterious place, but machines and artifacts?

"Machines... artifacts?" Yanfei's curiosity was instantly piqued. "The last time I was there, it was mostly ruins and lingering traces of the past. There weren't any active machines nor active artifacts around."

Qinyu's eyes widened, her tiny hands gesturing animatedly. "But there are!” She innocently argued.

Before anyone could question further, the heavy doors of the Jade Chamber creaked open. Baiwen entered swiftly, her typically composed demeanor visibly shaken. She bowed respectfully but wasted no time.

"Lady Ningguang, Lady Ganyu, Miss Yanfei," Baiwen's voice was urgent. "A message has arrived from the Ministry of Civil Affairs. There’s been an incident at the Chasm. Lady Keqing went there already and cannot return immediately."

Ganyu's heart skipped a beat. "An incident? What happened? Is Keqing alright?"

Baiwen nodded quickly. "Lady Keqing is still at Mingyun Village when the incident happened. According to the reports, a sudden surge of elemental energy has caused damage near the abandoned mines. Some structures collapsed, and there were reports of strange, mechanical movements before the energy subsided. The Millelith are already investigating, but Lady Keqing chose to remain on-site to ensure the miner’s safety."

Of course. Ganyu sighed inwardly. Of course, she did.

Yanfei frowned, crossing her arms. "Strange mechanical movements? There wasn’t anything like that earlier."

Ningguang nodded thoughtfully, her golden eyes narrowing in contemplation. "The Chasm has always been unpredictable. Even after the seal was lifted, the remnants of the ancient mechanisms still pose a mystery. But for something to resurface now..." She trailed off, her gaze lingering on Baiwen.

"Do we have any further reports?" Ningguang asked.

Baiwen shook her head. "Only preliminary observations, my Lady. Some miners claimed they saw flashes of light deep within, followed by tremors. The Millelith were deployed to investigate, but Lady Keqing insisted on overseeing it personally."

"And now she can't return," Ganyu murmured, more to herself.

Qinyu, noticing the troubled look on Ganyu's face, offered a reassuring pat on her shoulder. “Stop worrying, Mama!” she declared with a proud grin. "Mommy is strong.”

Ganyu gently patted Qinyu’s head, her fingers brushing through the soft strands of violet hair. The child leaned into her touch, comforted by the warmth. Ganyu tried to steady the flurry of thoughts racing in her mind — the Chasm, the strange machines, Keqing’s presence there, and now, this little girl who bore a striking resemblance to both her and Keqing.

Before Ganyu could dwell any further, Ningguang’s voice cut through her thoughts. “Yanfei. Ganyu.” She clasped her hands together, her golden eyes gleaming with decisive authority. “I believe it’s best if you both head to the Chasm.”

Ganyu blinked, startled. “To the Chasm?”

Ningguang nodded. “We need to inform Keqing about this matter as soon as possible. She has no knowledge of the child’s sudden appearance, nor the circumstances surrounding it. And… perhaps the incident in Chasm itself has something to do with Qinyu. In any way, she should know.”

At the mention of her name, Qinyu perked up, though she remained quiet, her little hands still clutching Ganyu’s sleeve.

Ganyu pursed her lips, glancing down at the child beside her. If there was even the slightest chance that the situation in the Chasm was connected to Qinyu’s mysterious presence, they couldn’t afford to delay.

Yanfei sighed, stretching her arms. “Alright, alright, I get it. If we don’t tell Keqing now, she’s going to be twice as mad later.” She then smirked at Ganyu. “You up for it, Mama Ganyu?”

Ganyu sputtered, her cheeks heating. “D-Don’t call me that!”

Qinyu giggled. “But you are Mama!”

Yanfei only laughed harder while Ningguang shook her head in amusement. Then, she turned to Baiwen. “Arrange a transport for them immediately.”

Baiwen bowed. “At once, Lady Ningguang.”

Ningguang's gaze lingered on Ganyu, her expression more serious now. "And Ganyu," she added, her voice lowering slightly, "once you’ve spoken to Keqing and assessed the situation, I suggest you relay this… bizarre incident to the adepti."

Ganyu stiffened at the thought. The adepti had always been guardians of Liyue, and any anomaly connected to the Chasm would undoubtedly concern them. But the very idea of explaining the sudden appearance of a child who called her ‘Mama’ made her stomach twist.

Still, Ganyu nodded solemnly. "Understood."

Ningguang's expression softened, sensing the weight Ganyu carried. "That can wait for now," she continued. "The priority is informing Keqing. If something at the Chasm is truly tied to this child, the Yuheng must know as soon as possible."

"Right," Ganyu replied, straightening. Her worries hadn’t subsided, but with a clear task ahead, she pushed them aside for the moment.

Yanfei clapped her hands together. "Well, guess we’re off to the Chasm. And let’s hope it’s not as bad as it sounds." She glanced at Ganyu, her teasing smirk returning. "But hey, at least Keqing’s reaction to all this should be very interesting, right?"

Ganyu sighed, ignoring the flush creeping up her face. She bent down, giving Qinyu’s soft hair another gentle pat. "Be good until we return, okay?”

Qinyu pouted slightly, her small hands clutching the hem of Ganyu’s sleeve. “But Mama, I wanna go too!”

Ganyu faltered, momentarily lost for words. “Qinyu, it might be dangerous—”

“But I’ve been there before!” Qinyu protested, her wide, innocent eyes gleaming with determination. “And I didn’t get hurt! Auntie Yanfei was just worried.”

Yanfei raised a brow, crossing her arms. “Well, forgive me for worrying when I find a child alone in the depths of the Chasm,” she muttered, though her tone remained playful.

Ganyu’s hands instinctively rested on Qinyu’s shoulders, her worry evident. She turned to Ningguang, silently seeking her judgment.

Ningguang, ever composed, studied them for a moment before offering a small nod. “Considering the circumstances, perhaps it’s best to bring her along. If the incident is connected to her, then it might be best thing to do.” She paused, her gaze sharp, implying. “But Ganyu, she will be your responsibility.”

Ganyu’s heart thudded at the weight of the words. “Of course,” she answered firmly. “I will do my best to ensure her safety.”

Qinyu beamed, satisfied with the outcome. She squeezed Ganyu’s hand tightly, already brimming with excitement. “Yay! Mama, we’re going on an adventure!”

Yanfei snickered. “More like a ‘figure out why the Chasm’s acting up and why a mysterious child appeared’ sort of adventure.”

Ganyu shot her a mildly exasperated look, though Yanfei only grinned in return.

“Well then,” Ningguang said, the finality in her voice dismissing any further debate. “The faster you depart, the sooner we may find answers. I’ll expect a report once you return.”

With that, Ganyu took a steadying breath and gently guided Qinyu along. “Let’s go,” she murmured, her unease lingering.

And as they stepped out of the Jade Chamber, Ganyu couldn’t shake the thought that whatever awaited them at the Chasm was bound to be far from simple.

>>><<< 

Keqing’s footsteps echoed against the jagged stone walls of the Chasm, the dim glow of luminescent crystals casting a ghostly blue hue around her. The air was thick with the earthy scent of damp rock and ancient minerals. Despite the weight of the underground silence, the occasional distant rumble hinted at the shifting depths of the caverns.

She narrowed her eyes, scanning the desolate pathways. The Chasm had been quiet for months, the Millelith soldiers are maintaining their vigilant watch to ensure no remaining threats lurked within. Yet now, reports of strange activity had drawn her back.

“This doesn’t make sense,” Keqing muttered, tightening her grip on her sword. “Last time I was here, the Chasm was stable.”

The scattered remains of past conflicts with the Abyss Order and Fatui still lingered, but there had been no recent disturbances. And yet, the report was clear—strange mechanical movements, unexplainable shifts in the rock formations, and an ominous hum that had sent miners fleeing.

Keqing’s jaw clenched. If there was one thing she despised, it was the unknown.

A low creak echoed from the shadows. Instinctively, she pivoted, her eyes locking onto a faint gleam of metal in the distance. A discarded ruin guard lay motionless, half-buried in rubble. But the unsettling part was the faint hum still emanating from it, as though something within it refused to power down entirely.

“The Millelith should have secured all machinery remnants,” she whispered to herself, frowning. “Why is this one still active?”

She took a cautious step forward when a sudden voice called out from behind.

“Lady Keqing!”

One of the Millelith officers approached, his expression a mix of urgency and relief.

“We’ve sealed off the lower caverns, but something’s stirring within the ruins. It’s not just mechanical debris… we’ve detected traces of unusual elemental energy.”

Keqing’s brows furrowed. “Elemental energy? Here?”

“Yes, my Lady. And…" the guard hesitated, his voice dropping. “We’ve heard something. A pulse, almost rhythmic. As though something is trying to wake up.”

Keqing's stomach twisted at the ominous implication.

“Understood,” she said firmly. “I’ll proceed further. Have the perimeter secured and ensure no civilians wander near.”

The Millelith guard saluted before hurrying back, leaving Keqing once more in the unsettling stillness.

With her sword drawn, she pressed onward, the rhythmic hum beneath her feet growing louder with every step. Whatever awaited her within the depths of the Chasm, she was determined to uncover it.

And yet, as a shadow flickered at the corner of her vision, a sudden, inexplicable chill washed over her—as though something far greater than a simple machine stirred within the darkness.

She stopped at a small clearing, the remnants of ancient mining equipment scattered across the ground. Large jagged crystals jutted out from the walls, faintly pulsing with an otherworldly glow. Just as she knelt to examine the cracked surface beneath her feet, a low, guttural hum reverberated through the cavern. The shadows twisted. Then, without warning, a rift of dark energy split the air.

Keqing immediately leapt back, her hand tightening around the hilt of her sword. The rift pulsated, and from its depths emerged a trio of Abyss Mages, their robed forms floating ominously. Dark mist coiled around them as their hollow laughter echoed through the chamber.

They spoke in a language unknown to most, guttural and ancient, each word dripping with malice.

Keqing’s eyes narrowed. Though the meaning of their words remained incomprehensible, their intent was all too clear.

“Whatever you’re planning,” she called out, voice unwavering, “it ends here.”

Electricity crackled along her blade as she stepped forward. The Mages responded with a flurry of elemental orbs, hurtling towards her. Keqing moved with swift precision, her movements a blur as she dodged and countered. Bolts of lightning erupted from her sword, illuminating the dark chamber in flashes of violet.

The Abyss Mages hissed in frustration, retreating momentarily. Yet their murmurs continued, their twisted incantations reverberating in the air. Keqing clenched her teeth, her heart pounding. She couldn’t let whatever they were plotting come to fruition.

“You won’t get the chance.”

In one fluid motion, Keqing surged forward, her sword slicing through the air. A burst of electro energy pulsed from the blade, striking the nearest Mage and sending it crashing to the ground. But just as she prepared to turn on the others, a flash of searing flame erupted. An Abyss Mage infused with blazing pyro energy floated forward, its staff glowing ominously.

Keqing’s ready to take this one down but…

Shit, silently curses Keqing.

Her movements faltered as a sharp pang shot through her ankle. A grimace twisted her face—the same ankle she had sprained not long ago.

She cursed under her breath once more.

Though she’d sworn it had healed, the strain of battle proved otherwise. The Pyro Mage’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction, sensing her vulnerability.

The air grew stifling as the Mage conjured a swirling mass of fire. Keqing braced herself, her muscles taut. There would be no time to dodge. She readied her blade, preparing for the worst.

But just as the scorching flames surged toward her…

… a blast of icy wind swept through the cavern.

A massive sphere of cryo energy materialized mid-air, sending sharp ice crystals cascading across the ground. The fire extinguished in an instant, the Pyro Mage shrieking as frost bit into its form. A chilling mist lingered, and Keqing didn’t need to see the source to know.

“Ganyu!” she exclaimed, her voice a mixture of relief and disbelief.

Indeed, from the shadows of the cavern, Ganyu emerged, her bow still faintly glowing with residual cryo energy. Just behind her stood Yanfei, her crimson robes flickering in the dim light. But what caught Keqing's attention the most was the small figure clutching Yanfei’s hand—a child?

The remaining Abyss Mage hissed in frustration, its electrifying form flickering with unstable fury. But after witnessing the defeat of its kin, it let out a guttural growl and retreated, vanishing into the shadows. The crackling trail of its electricity lingered briefly before extinguishing into nothingness.

Keqing's breathing was ragged, her chest rising and falling as she lowered her sword. The metallic taste of exhaustion clung to her throat, and despite the adrenaline, her body protested. She willed herself to stand tall, but as the pain flared sharply from her once-sprained ankle, her leg buckled beneath her.

"Tch…" Keqing cursed under her breath, frustration mingling with the throbbing ache. Her vision blurred for a moment, but before she could brace herself for the inevitable fall, a pair of arms swiftly wrapped around her.

"Keqing!" Ganyu's voice rang with alarm, her cool touch steadying Keqing as the violet-haired woman collapsed against her. The familiar scent of Qingxin flowers lingered around Ganyu, mingled with the fresh chill of her cryo energy. "Are you alright?"

Keqing blinked, the world tilting slightly before steadying as she found herself securely held in Ganyu's light embrace.

"I'm fine. It’s nothing," Keqing muttered, though her trembling legs betrayed her words. She instinctively tried to pull away, but Ganyu's hold remained firm.

"You're not fine," Ganyu's voice softened, concern clouding her pale crimson eyes. "You pushed yourself again, didn't you?"

Before Keqing could respond, hurried footsteps echoed through the cavern. Yanfei came into view, her eyes wide with both relief and curiosity. But what truly caught Keqing's attention was the small figure clinging to Yanfei's hand.

"Mommy!" The little girl’s voice rang with innocent delight, her bright heterochromatic eyes shimmering with relief and worry at the same time. She tugged at Yanfei’s arm, attempting to break free and run towards Keqing, though Yanfei held her back with surprising ease.

Mommy?

“Umm…” Keqing's gaze flickered from Ganyu, to Yanfei, and then to the little child who now stood squirming in Yanfei's gentle grasp. Then, she hissed. The pain from her ankle remained sharp.

Ganyu sighed and if she could, she will tell Keqing, ‘I told you so’. Then, she carefully lowered Keqing to the ground, her hands lingering at her sides for a while as if still uncertain to let go. Neither of them spoke. The air was heavy with unspoken questions—a silence that felt unbearable.

Then, the little child finally broke free.

“Mommy!”

She stumbled slightly as she rushed forward, the oversized sleeves of her silk garment fluttering with each hurried step. Yanfei, despite her best efforts, could only watch as the child slipped from her grasp.

The little girl threw her arms around Keqing, small hands clutching at the latter.

Keqing's body stiffened. Her mind reeled, the word echoing in her ears. She barely registered Ganyu’s gasp beside her, nor the way Yanfei tensed with uncertainty. But the child had no hesitation.

“Mommy, you're hurt! You promised you wouldn’t get hurt!”

Keqing’s lips parted, but no words came. She instinctively lifted a hand, her trembling fingers brushing lightly against the girl's soft violet hair. The horns—small, curved, black and red—were unmistakable. The familiar eyes that gleamed up at her are equally impossible to ignore.

"I… I—" Keqing faltered, her voice barely above a whisper.

From the corner of her eye, Ganyu's pale complexion had turned ashen, her hands clasped tightly together. Yanfei, on the other hand, rubbed the back of her neck, casting a helpless glance toward the others.

“Well,” Yanfei began, her tone laced with forced lightness, “this is exactly why we're here.”

Keqing remained seated on the cold stone ground, her breathing still uneven. The little girl clung to her tightly, her small arms wrapped around Keqing’s waist as though afraid to let go. Despite the confusion swirling in her mind, Keqing found herself hesitantly placing a hand on the child’s back, the warmth of the embrace oddly grounding.

“O-okay… I don’t know what’s going but…”

Then, a deliberate clearing of the throat echoed through the cavern.

"Lady Keqing," a Millelith soldier stood stiffly, his helmet slightly tilted as though carefully gauging whether or not he was interrupting something significant. "My apologies, but I have a report."

Keqing still remained in that position, exhaled slowly, gathering the strength to respond. “Go on.”

"The faint pulses we detected from the Chasm have ceased entirely. Furthermore, the mechanical disturbances have disappeared without a trace. Whatever anomaly caused it seems to have… resolved itself. At least for now."

A flicker of confusion crossed Keqing’s face, but before she could ask for further clarification, the child nuzzled against her. She shifted slightly, adjusting to the little girl’s weight still clinging to her. But just as she opened her mouth to speak, the child tilted her head and smiled brightly.

"Mommy, is it just me or you look… younger? Auntie Ning also…" Qinyu casually asked, her eyes sparkling with innocent admiration.

Keqing blinked. "I... um..." She furrowed her brows, momentarily thrown off. "Thanks?" The corner of her mouth twitched, not knowing whether to be amused or concerned or both. Then the confusion settled deeper. “Wait a minute.” Her gaze flicked to Ganyu, her tone edged with suspicion. "Ganyu."

Ganyu stiffened, instinctively attentive. "Yes?"

"Can you help me up?" Keqing asked, her voice firm, though the ache still lingered in her ankle.

Ganyu eyed her doubtfully, concern flashing across her face. “Can you even stand?”

Keqing scoffed, waving off the worry. “Of course I can.”

Still, Ganyu wasn’t convinced. Gently, she turned to Qinyu. “Qinyu, why don’t you let go for a moment? Keqing-" She cleared her throat then corrected herself. "Mommy needs to stand.”

Qinyu’s face scrunched in mild reluctance, but with a soft pout, she obeyed. “Okay… but be careful, Mommy.”

Keqing blinked once more at the unfamiliar title and tenderness in the child’s voice. Ganyu reached out, her hands steadying Keqing as she carefully pulled her to her feet. Keqing winced slightly, testing her balance. For a moment, Ganyu's concerned gaze didn't waver.

"See?" Keqing declared with a faint grin. She straightened her posture, giving her feet a quick stretch. “I’m perfectly fine.”

But Ganyu’s skeptical expression didn’t budge. “Really?”

To prove her point, Keqing gave a small hop. Then another. “See?” she said triumphantly, a hint of smugness in her voice. “Good as new.”

Ganyu sighed, though a soft chuckle escaped her lips. "You’re impossible."

Yanfei, watching the scene with poorly disguised amusement, snorted. "Well, that’s one way to test it."

Qinyu giggled, the sound light and joyful. "See? Mommy’s strong!"

Keqing brushed the dust from her clothes, still feeling the lingering ache in her ankle, though the soreness was now manageable. She gave a brief glance around, noting the Millelith was still standing on guard, but her gaze inevitably fell back on the small child.

"So…" Keqing began slowly, her voice carefully measured. "What's all this… I mean…" She gestured vaguely towards Qinyu. "This little kid?"

At that, Qinyu’s cheerful expression twisted into a pout, her brows furrowing in obvious dismay.

"Why is Mommy acting like she’s forgetting her own daughter?" Qinyu’s voice was laced with confusion and a tinge of hurt. Her wide, innocent eyes gleamed as she stared sadly at Keqing.

Keqing felt the air catch in her throat. "I—My... What…" Her words stumbled, her mind racing as the weight of the child’s words sank in. Her daughter?

Before Keqing could even begin to form a coherent response, Ganyu, quick on her feet, stepped forward. “Oh! Looks like Mommy is tired,” She interrupted, her voice deliberately light and soothing. “Mama will talk to Mommy for a bit, okay?” She crouched slightly, offering Qinyu a soft smile. “Be good and wait here, alright?”

Qinyu’s pout lingered, but she gave a small, reluctant nod. “Okay, Mama…”

Without wasting a second, Ganyu’s gaze flicked to Yanfei, her eyes subtly pleading. Yanfei blinked, then immediately caught on. “Hey, little one!” she chimed, her tone exaggeratedly cheerful. “Why don’t you tell me more about what you saw in the Chasm? Maybe you found something super awesome!”

Qinyu’s curiosity quickly sparked. “Oh! I saw! I saw lots of awesome things!”

Yanfei grinned. “Perfect! I love stories. Let’s hear all about it.”

With Qinyu now successfully distracted, Ganyu seized the moment. She gently grasped Keqing’s arm, steering her a few paces away.

Once they were out of earshot, Keqing exhaled sharply. “Ganyu, what—”

“I know,” Ganyu cut in softly, though the tension in her voice betrayed her unease. “It’s… confusing. Believe me, I’m just as baffled.”

Keqing’s voice lowered, her gaze narrowing. “She called me ‘Mommy.’ And you…” Her eyes searched Ganyu’s face. “She called you ‘Mama.’ Ganyu, what’s going on?”

Ganyu shook her head, visibly frustrated. “I don’t know. Yanfei had found her, and from what I’ve gathered, she was alone in the Chasm at that time.”

“The Chasm?” Keqing’s brows furrowed deeply. “Alone?”

“She said she snuck in,” Ganyu explained, her voice a near whisper. “Her name’s Qinyu, and she called both of us her parents.”

Keqing stiffened, her jaw tightening. “But that’s impossible.”

“I know,” Ganyu whispered back. “But… she’s real. And she looks…”

Keqing’s mind flashed back to the child’s horns, the eyes, the hair — so eerily familiar. Actually, she cannot really deny. The kid looked like her in her childhood except for the eye color and those cute little horns.

“She looks like us,” Keqing finished, the words heavy.

Ganyu nodded. “Yes.”

A tense silence fell between them. Whatever was happening, it was far from ordinary. And now, they had no choice but to face it.

Ganyu sighed, her fingers nervously clutching the fabric of her sleeves.

“So until we get to the bottom of this,” she murmured, glancing up at Keqing, “let’s just… play along for now.”

Keqing hesitated, but the faint blush creeping across Ganyu’s cheeks didn’t go unnoticed. It wasn’t even that cold, and yet… Ganyu’s flustered expression was uncharacteristically endearing. The sight of it alone made Keqing’s own face flush. She quickly averted her gaze, clearing her throat in an attempt to regain composure.

“Right,” Keqing said briskly, her tone slightly strained. Spinning on her heel, she faced the nearby Millelith guard, who had remained respectfully silent during their conversation.

“Report to the Ministry of Civil Affairs immediately,” Keqing commanded, her authoritative tone returning. “Update them and inform them that we will return to the Harbor shortly.”

The guard saluted without hesitation. “Understood, Lady Keqing.” With that, he quickly made his departure, his footsteps echoing through the cavern.

Once he was gone, Keqing exhaled slowly, the lingering tension still palpable. She turned back to Ganyu, offering a slight nod. “Let’s go.”

Together, they made their way back to where Yanfei and Qinyu waited. The moment she saw Keqing, Qinyu’s face dramatically pouted.

Keqing swallowed the growing unease with the displeased child before her and mustered a sheepish smile. “I… I was just playing games earlier,” she said, awkwardly rubbing the back of her neck. “Sorry if I confused you, Q-Qinyu.”

Qinyu tilted her head, her pout quickly dissolving into a forgiving grin. “It’s okay, Mommy!” she chirped.

Then, without a moment’s hesitation, she raised her arms expectantly, her wide eyes sparkling.

Keqing blinked. “Umm… what’s the problem?”

Qinyu’s brows furrowed, as though the answer was obvious. “I want to be carried by Mommy!”

Keqing was stunned, visibly flustered. “Well, that’s…” She stumbled over her words, her hands awkwardly twitching as if unsure what to do. The mere thought of lifting the child, especially with her ankle still sore, was daunting.

But before she could muster a proper response, Ganyu stepped in. “Qinyu,” Ganyu cooed gently, lowering herself slightly to meet Qinyu’s gaze. “Mama will carry you, okay? Mommy’s ankle is still healing, and we don’t want her to get hurt again.”

Qinyu blinked, her expression shifting into one of genuine concern. “Mommy’s still hurt?”

Keqing opened her mouth to protest, but Ganyu had already gathered the little girl into her arms. Qinyu’s delighted giggle rang through the air as she nestled comfortably against Ganyu’s shoulder.

“It’s okay, Mama! Mommy’s strong, remember? I’ll take care of Mommy when we get home!” Qinyu declared proudly.

Ganyu’s face softened as she gave Keqing a reassuring smile, though her faint blush remained.

Keqing, still utterly baffled by the events unfolding before her, could only sigh. “Let’s just get back to the Harbor,” she murmured, rubbing her temples.

Yanfei chuckled, patting Keqing’s back playfully. “Aye, aye, Mommy Keqing.”

Keqing groans in response.

>>><<< 

“Of course, I would know if I had a child, Ningguang," Keqing said in a hushed voice, her arms crossed tightly.

They had already arrived at the Jade Chamber. The sun had set, casting a warm glow over the Harbor below. A few meters away, the little child giggled as Auntie Yanfei did her utmost to keep her entertained.

But the tension lingered.

Ningguang's expression remained unreadable as she responded, her voice low. "I know. This matter is beyond our comprehension."

She shifted her gaze to Ganyu, who stood beside Keqing, fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve.

"We need to inform the adepti. They might have the answers."

Ganyu nodded firmly. "I'll head to Mt. Aocang right this instant." Her determination was evident, though beneath it, worry flickered.

But before the plan could proceed, a small voice interrupted them.

"Mama. Mommy."                                    

Qinyu's soft, innocent tone broke through their hushed conversation. She waddled toward them, rubbing her eyes. Behind her, Yanfei hurriedly followed, an apologetic look on her face.

"I tried to distract her, but..." Yanfei trailed off, shrugging helplessly.

Qinyu's sleepy eyes blinked up at them, the exhaustion evident in her drooping posture.

"Mama, Mommy, I’m sleepy," she mumbled once more, her tiny hands reaching out.

Keqing, Ganyu, and Ningguang exchanged uncertain glances. Just how were they supposed to deal with this?

Ningguang exhaled slowly, her sharp gaze shifting between the child and the gathered adults. "Well," she began, her voice low but firm, "it’s clear we can’t leave her like this. She’ll need a proper place to rest."

"I can take her," Ganyu volunteered almost immediately. She knelt beside Qinyu, gently brushing a strand of violet hair away from the girl’s face. "She seems comfortable enough with me."

Keqing nodded slowly, though a flicker of uncertainty lingered in her eyes. Yanfei, still lingering near the side, smiled encouragingly.

"That seems like the best choice for now," Ningguang agreed. "While you take the child home, the rest of us will remain here to discuss the necessary next steps. We can’t ignore the incident at the Chasm.

Keqing then added. “Additional restrictions may be required, and further patrols will need to be arranged. I will contact Ministry of Civil Affairs as well."

"Understood," Ganyu responded softly. Then, turning back to the sleepy child, she smiled. "Come now, Qinyu. Let’s get you to bed."

Qinyu blinked up at her, the confusion in her heterochromatic eyes evident. "Mommy’s not coming with us?"

Silence fell.

Of course. How can they forget about the Mommy?

In their rush to address the situation, they had overlooked one crucial detail. The three women exchanged uncertain looks before their gazes inevitably landed on Keqing.

Keqing's throat tightened as she tried to suppress the sudden wave of unease. She forced a smile, clearing her throat. "I... umm... I'll follow shortly," she said, her tone wavering. "Mommy still has some work left to do."

But it wasn’t enough. Qinyu's lower lip trembled, her small fists clenching at her sides. "No!" she protested, her voice rising. "I want Mommy!"

She stomped a foot, her frustration bubbling over. "I don’t want to go without Mommy!"

Keqing froze, her heart pounding as the tantrum unfolded before her. Yanfei rubbed the back of her neck, looking mildly sympathetic. Ningguang, on the other hand, observed with a steely patience, though a hint of amusement tugged at the corners of her lips.

Ganyu quickly knelt beside Qinyu, gently placing her hands on the child's small shoulders. "Qinyu," she said softly, her voice soothing. "It’s alright. Mommy… Mommy will follow soon. I promise."

But Qinyu shook her head stubbornly. "No! I want Mommy now!"

Keqing sighed, feeling the weight of every gaze upon her. There was no easy solution—not when a child’s cries twisted her heart with guilt and confusion. And yet, she knew that somehow, she would have to face it.

"Alright," Keqing finally said, voice gentle yet firm. "How about this, Qinyu? I’ll come and check on you once I’m done. It won’t take long, I promise."

The words hung in the air as Qinyu hesitated, her tearful eyes searching Keqing’s face. Finally, with a reluctant nod, the little girl buried herself in Ganyu’s arms, still sniffling softly.

"Good," Ningguang murmured, folding her arms. "Then it’s settled. Let’s proceed without further delay."

Chapter Text

As Ganyu walked the familiar path toward her home, the quiet hum of the night surrounding her, her arms carried a small weight—Qinyu, drowsy and nestled against her shoulder. But Ganyu’s mind was anything but calm. Her thoughts were a tangled spiral of confusion and disbelief.

Sure, she admired Keqing's work ethic. She admired Keqing’s perseverance. She liked how much Keqing cared for her, always reminding her to take breaks, to eat, to rest—even though Keqing would casually brush Ganyu off whenever the roles were reversed. Ganyu adored Keqing’s confident smile, her sharp, pretty eyes, and that well-defined jaw that looked like it had been sculpted by the gods themselves…

But never in her wildest dreams would she register the idea that they—she and Keqing—would have a child together.

It was a foreign, impossible thought. They were not dating. And more importantly, they were both women. It shouldn’t be possible. Yet here she was, holding in her arms the very evidence that defied all logic and reason: a child with soft purple hair and sleepy eyes, fighting off slumber.

Her thoughts broke when her feet landed on the stone steps outside her home. Before she could reach for the door, a sleepy voice murmured from her arms. “Where are we, Mama? This is not home.”

Ganyu froze. Of course. Of course, this wouldn’t be the house the child knew. She internally groaned.

Still, Ganyu was smart when it came to excuses. It was, after all, part of her skillset. “Qinyu,” she said softly, adjusting the child slightly in her hold. “We’ll sleep here temporarily, okay? It’s very late and we need to rest immediately.”

Qinyu slowly nodded, although her sharp little eyes seemed skeptical. Her gaze scanned the modest house. “Whose house is this?” she asked.

“It’s... it’s my house,” Ganyu replied, hesitating as she pushed the door open, still carrying the child one-handed.

“Ohhh,” Qinyu replied with dawning realization. “So like… this is Mama’s house before you married Mommy?”

An innocent question—yet it sent Ganyu into another spiral, a flush of warmth blooming on her cheeks. She set Qinyu down and quickly responded, “Yes. Why don’t you do Mama a favor and get ready for a bath and bed, okay?”

Qinyu simply nodded, her curious gaze drifting around the modest home with innocent wonder. She took a few slow steps, eyes wide, before she giggled softly. "Your house is so small, Mama."

The words, so casually said, struck Ganyu like a stray arrow. Heat rushed to her cheeks.

It wasn’t that she couldn’t afford more—far from it. Centuries of serving the Qixing had ensured she was more than financially stable. But a large house, empty and echoing, had always felt unbearably lonely. Over time, she found solace in simplicity. A warm kettle. A modest garden. Potted plants that listened in silence. Stray cats and dogs who wandered in for food or company.

That was enough for her.

Still, being told by a child—her child, allegedly—that her home was small... Ganyu cleared her throat and tried not to think about it too hard.

But curiosity itched at her mind. She crouched down a bit and called softly, “So, Qinyu…”

The child perked up at her name.

Ganyu hesitated, then asked, “Do we… live at Mommy’s house?”

The words left her lips before she could stop them. As soon as they did, Ganyu mentally smacked herself. Great. Confuse the child more, why don’t you. She said to no one but herself.

Qinyu’s brow furrowed with the effort of sorting through her thoughts, but she answered innocently, “Yes? Mommy told me that it’s her house. But it’s our house too, Mama.” Then, crossing her arms and pouting slightly, she added, “Geez, everybody’s asking me weird questions today.”

Ganyu felt her heart twist a little—part guilt, part concern. She moved closer, knelt beside Qinyu, and gently patted her head, fingers threading through soft hair with a touch so familiar it startled her a bit. Then, she remembered the way Cloud Retainer used to do the same for her long ago, in moments of confusion or fear.

“I’m sorry, Qinyu,” Ganyu murmured softly, “for making you confused. We were just… tired from work. That’s all. Sometimes when grown-ups are tired, we forget things. How about we take a warm and nice bath now? That way, Mama will be relaxed… and Qinyu too.”

Qinyu’s expression immediately brightened. “Okay!”

But then, just as Ganyu stood and lifted her in her arms again, the child seemed to remember something important. She tilted her head and asked with earnest eyes, “How about Mommy? When will she come here? Does she know we are here?”

Ganyu sighed inwardly, adjusting her grip slightly as she carried the girl. “Don’t worry,” she said gently. “Mommy will be here with us later, okay?”

The child beamed at her answer, no trace of doubt in her eyes. “Okay!”

>>><<<

Keqing rubbed her temples, eyes fixed on the half-scrawled pages before her. Her desk was littered with documents—maps of the Chasm, field reports, hazard assessments, and her own scribbled drafts for new safety protocols. The situation had worsened. The Chasm was growing more unstable, more unpredictable, and increasingly mysterious. And as much as her head pounded, she was almost done—just one more adjustment to the third contingency clause…

From the corner of her vision, a shadow loomed. Ningguang’s elegant face peeked into view, calm as ever.

“I’m not yet done with these,” Keqing said before she could even ask, her voice clipped but weary. She knew exactly why Ningguang had come.

Or not...

Ningguang simply sighed, arms crossed. “I think you’re forgetting,” she said pointedly, “that there’s a child waiting for you at Ganyu’s home.”

Keqing flinched.

“Trust me, Keqing,” Ningguang added with a knowing tilt of her head. “You do not want another series of a child’s tantrum.”

That made Keqing stop. Her pen hovered in midair, ink blotting silently onto the page. Her shoulders tensed, then slumped slightly. “I don’t know, Ningguang…” she muttered. “This is just too much for one day. I never really thought… I mean, it’s impossible but it’s…”

The words fell apart, scattered like her thoughts. Her brows furrowed, as though trying to grip something intangible in her mind.

Ningguang walked around the desk and took a seat across from her. “I know,” she said softly. “But let’s pause for a moment to think. We still don’t know the origins of the child. But the evidence is so clear that we cannot deny such a possibility.”

Keqing remained silent, staring at the sheet of paper.

“The best we can do,” Ningguang continued gently, “is address the issues at the present.”

A long, tired breath escaped Keqing’s lips. Strangely enough, it helped. She leaned back slightly in her chair. “Alright,” she said at last, voice almost a whisper. “And that is?”

“Go to Ganyu,” Ningguang replied, not missing a beat. “She needs help taking care of that child.”

That struck a chord. Keqing looked away, but it was too late—her guilt had already surfaced. Her stomach churned. “…Right,” she muttered to herself. Ganyu needed help, and here she was drowning herself in work just to avoid facing the impossible. A child. A child that called Keqing her mother.

Ningguang stood, the conversation done. “The work can wait tomorrow,” she said with a faint smirk. “But I don’t think a little child can.”

With that, she left Keqing behind, who could only sigh once more, pressing her palm to her chest.

The walk to Ganyu’s home was brisk, yet somehow timeless. Her thoughts were in shambles, unraveling like threads, but her feet carried her with certainty. She knew the path—after all, she had walked Ganyu home more than a few times before. Her mind may have been lost, but her body remembered the way.

Then, just as she was nearing, her thoughts were broken by a sound.

Crying.

Loud, shrill, unmistakable.

Keqing’s instincts kicked in. She rushed towards Ganyu’s house, hands on the door and pushed it open without hesitation. “Ganyu!” she called out.

Ganyu’s head snapped up from where she was crouched beside the couch, visibly distressed. In her arms was the small, wailing figure of Qinyu. “Thank goodness you’re here,” she said, like Keqing was a miracle that had just walked through her door.

“Mommy!” Qinyu wailed louder, the moment she saw Keqing. She scrambled from Ganyu’s touch and rushed toward her, flinging her arms around Keqing’s legs—the only part she could reach.

Ganyu approached quickly, her voice strained. “We were just taking a bath together but then right after, she looked everywhere for you and well…” She gestured helplessly toward the signs of chaos: the scattered towels, the damp floor, the tiny sock thrown in some vague act of protest. It was clearly a full-blown tantrum.

Keqing let out a slow breath, pity swelling in her chest—not for Qinyu, but for Ganyu, who looked exhausted. She cursed herself for not coming sooner.

“Qinyu,” Keqing said, not loudly—but her tone carried weight. It had command.

The child sniffled and looked up at her with wide, red-rimmed eyes.

“Tell me again,” Keqing said, crouching to her level. “How old are you?”

Qinyu held up four fingers with trembling hands. “Four…”

Keqing narrowed her eyes, voice cool. “Is that really how a four-year-old acts? Crying, screaming, throwing things when you don’t get your way?”

It was harsh—almost cruel in its bluntness. Ganyu immediately knelt beside them, her voice rising in protest.  “Keqing—!”

But Qinyu didn’t flinch. Instead, her eyes widened in realization. Her lips trembled, but not in defiance. She looked down, her voice soft and remorseful. “…I’m sorry, Mama. I’m sorry, Mommy. Qinyu won’t do it again.”

Ganyu blinked, taken aback by the calm clarity in the child’s voice. On the other hand, Keqing nodded, exhaling slowly. “Good. Now go and sleep on the bed. Don’t trouble Mama anymore—she’s already tired from work as she is.”

Qinyu nodded, then did something entirely unexpected. She leaned forward and gave Keqing a quick kiss on the cheek. “Good night, Mommy.” Then she turned to Ganyu, planting another kiss on her cheek. “I’m sorry again, Mama. Good night.”

Before either of them could respond, Qinyu padded off in the direction of the bedroom, leaving the two women behind—frozen, quiet, eyes locked. Both of them, without realizing it, were still holding the cheeks where Qinyu had just kissed them—gentle, fleeting pecks that somehow left their skin burning more than a slap might have.

“That went way better than expected,” Ganyu said, her voice quiet, almost in awe. “Way better than I could’ve handled.”

Keqing exhaled through her nose, lips pressing into a small smile. “Sometimes,” she murmured, “children need a reminder that they can’t always get what they want whenever they please.” Her tone wasn’t harsh, just firm—distant, even, as if she were recalling something far older than Qinyu’s tantrum. “That’s the kind of discipline I grew up with. And… honestly? I’m thankful I did.”

Slowly, almost shyly, they both stood. Keqing’s gaze softened the moment it fell back on Ganyu, her eyes full of something between guilt and concern.

“Thank you for coming, Keqing,” Ganyu said, almost bashfully, her voice as gentle as the candlelight around them.

Keqing shook her head at once. “No. I should have come sooner.” And then she noticed it—Ganyu’s hair was still damp, soaked to the point where the collar of her nightwear clung wetly to her skin. Keqing's brows furrowed. Without hesitation, she reached for a towel from the side table and stepped forward, draping it over Ganyu’s head.

“Your hair’s still wet,” she said, her voice low and firm. “You’ll catch a cold, Ganyu.” She began gently patting and rubbing the towel over Ganyu’s hair, her movements careful—mindful of her horns.

Ganyu stood frozen, her breath caught, flushed from both the temperature and the unexpected closeness. Her heart was hammering in her chest, so loud that she was convinced Keqing could hear it. They were in her house, for goodness’ sake. And in the other room, a child—their child, allegedly—was sleeping.

What is happening…? Ganyu groaned inwardly, feeling overwhelmed. Yet she didn’t pull away.  She just stood there, helpless against the pounding rhythm of her own heart.

Then, while Keqing continued wiping her hair, she spoke again. “I guess I’ll have to stay here for the night,” Keqing said quietly. “I hope you have extra clothes and towels for me? Sorry to be imposing.”

Ganyu immediately shook her head, flustered. “No, no. No need to be sorry. It can’t be helped. I’m just… thankful that you’re now here to help me with Qinyu. And yes, I have spare towels and clothes. I’ll bring them to you and ready your bath.”

Keqing stopped her motions. Her hands fell to her sides. “I’ll ready my own bath, Ganyu,” she said. “No need to go all out of your way for me. You need to rest too. Just bring me the spare clothes and towels. I’ll help myself.”

Ganyu nodded slowly, cheeks still warm. “Okay…”

A short pause.

Then she asked, almost hesitantly, “Where will you sleep then?” She bit her lower lip right after she said it—aware of how awkward the question sounded. But she didn’t take it back.

Keqing just sighed. “If there’s still space on your bed.”

Ganyu blinked, slightly wide-eyed.

“I just don’t want a repeat of what happened just now,” Keqing added. “The tantrums. It seems to happen when she can’t get a hold of me.”

Ganyu giggled softly, unable to help it. “Well… yes. She does. Qinyu really wants your presence and throws a tantrum when she can’t have it easily.”

Keqing sighed again. “Right? So it’s better if Qinyu and I stick closer together. That way, the possibility of another tantrum is lower.”

Ganyu nodded in agreement. She, too, did not want to go another round with a wailing Qinyu. “Agreed.”

Again, silence hovered between them—but it wasn’t the same as before. There was something uncertain in the way they looked at each other. Like they were treading on unfamiliar ground.

Ganyu cleared her throat and broke the silence. “I’ll get you your towels and clothes. And… after your bath, you can join us in bed. We can fit—but barely. I’m sure yours is bigger, but please bear with it.”

Keqing gave a small shrug. “You’re exaggerating. But it’s okay, Ganyu. This is just for tonight.”

There was a finality in Keqing’s tone that made Ganyu’s heart sink ever so slightly. She didn’t know why it did, nor know how to respond to it.

“…Tomorrow,” Keqing added, her voice quiet. “We’ll find a way to clear this mystery. And then return Qinyu to where she really belongs. We don’t know what or where that is yet, but… it’s somewhere out there.” Her expression was unreadable—calm but distant.

Ganyu looked down. “I hope so,” she said softly. With that, she excused herself, slipping into the hallway to gather spare clothes and towels—her heart filled with unexplainable emotions she didn’t yet have the words for.

>>><<< 

After sending Keqing off to the bathroom with the spare towels, a change of clothes, and the softest slippers she could find, Ganyu walked quietly toward her bedroom.  The moment she opened the door, her heart tugged.

There, curled under the thin quilt like a dumpling tucked in, was Qinyu—her little form rising and falling with each breath. Her hair was still a bit damp from the bath, cheeks flushed from all the crying earlier, and arms wrapped tightly around a pillow in a way that stirred something deep in Ganyu.

She used to sleep like that too. Small. Alone. Quiet in a world she never quite felt she belonged in—until the Qixing gave her purpose, until she learned to give herself peace. Ganyu sighed softly, stepping forward. She lifted the blanket just enough to slip in and settle behind the child. Carefully, she eased Qinyu closer to her chest, adjusting her so that there would be space behind them—space for one more.

For Keqing.

The thought made her cheeks flush again, but Ganyu willed herself to relax. There was nothing strange about this. Yes, nothing strange, Ganyu thought to herself.

It was just... practicality.

Keqing was right—Qinyu had latched onto her completely. It only made sense for them all to stay together. And yet, even as her eyes fluttered shut, Ganyu couldn’t help but let her thoughts wander.

Who is she really? Why does she look so much like us? How?

But tiredness crept in faster than her questions could spiral, and eventually, she drifted off into the quiet lull of Qinyu’s steady breathing.

A warm light peeked through her eyelids. Ganyu stirred, her body slow to wake, her mind thick with sleep. Her cheek pressed against the pillow, her arm instinctively curled around the small warmth nestled beside her.

It’s morning already.

Then she blinked.

In front of her, a small back. Qinyu.

But Qinyu wasn’t just curled up near her anymore—she was clinging, her little arms wrapped tightly around someone else.

Keqing.

Ganyu blinked again, her brain catching up. Her vision cleared, and there she was—Keqing, still asleep, barely moving. The sight momentarily startled Ganyu. Her heart skipped as she stared, dazed. What in the world...? But then it returned to her in pieces—the night before, the tantrum, the bath, the towels, the awkward conversation by the doorway, and finally, Keqing saying she would stay the night.

Right, right, right, she muttered softly in her mind.

Keqing in her bed. A little child in between them. A domestic routine they never asked for, never planned, yet somehow happened.

Ganyu’s cheeks flushed again, warmth blossoming up her neck and settling in her ears. Her breath caught as she looked at Keqing’s face in sleep—calm, relaxed... beautiful. She didn’t know how long she lay there staring, but the weight of the moment pressed gently on her chest. Neither overwhelming nor too light. Just enough to make her wonder if anything after this morning could ever be the same again.

Carefully, Ganyu slid herself out of bed, doing her best not to disturb the sleeping pair. Qinyu remained nestled between them, arms clinging to Keqing like a starfish wrapped around her favorite rock. A soft, amused sigh escaped her lips as she adjusted the blanket to cover them both. Then she tiptoed toward the door, glancing one last time at the serene picture they made.

I’ll make some breakfast, she thought, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

In the kitchen, she checked what she could put together quickly. A few fresh vegetables, some tofu she bought the other day, and a bottle of sesame oil left half-used. Not much, but enough. She gathered everything with a quiet sense of purpose. But her thoughts threatened to spiral again—Qinyu’s mysterious appearance, Keqing’s reactions, the way their lives had suddenly rearranged themselves around a child neither of them remembered having.

But Ganyu kept her hands busy. She willed herself to. Her knife made clean, rhythmic sounds against the board. She tossed sliced tomatoes and lettuce into a bowl, added julienned carrots and some herbs, and began dressing the salad. Her thoughts simmered beneath the surface, tangled and half-formed, but she kept her back turned to them.

Then came the sound.

A tiny giggle. Followed by a familiar groan.

Ganyu froze mid-stir, eyes widening.

Then a voice, unmistakably Qinyu’s, ringing out from the bedroom like a tiny alarm bell, “Wake up, Mommy! Wake up!”

Ganyu didn’t even think—she wiped her hands on a towel and hurried back toward the bedroom. She found them just as she feared—but couldn’t help smiling at the sight anyway.

Qinyu was perched atop Keqing’s stomach like a mischievous kitten. Her little body bounced slightly with her excitement, hands poking Keqing’s cheeks again and again with absolute determination.

Keqing, for her part, looked like she was battling both sleep and mild irritation. Her hair was a mess, eyes barely cracked open, and her voice laced with reluctant protest. “Please… get… off me…” She groaned, dragging out every syllable like a plea.

But Qinyu wasn’t having it. “Nooo! You’ll be late for work, Mommy! Mama already woke up!” she declared proudly, like a soldier reporting for duty.

At the word Mommy and Mama, Keqing’s eyes snapped fully open. The fog of sleep vanished in an instant, replaced by a sharp, dawning realization—one that came with a tight jolt in her chest.  Her entire body stiffened, unsure of how to even breathe properly in the situation. 

Before things could spiral, Ganyu acted. She moved across the room and scooped Qinyu up gently but firmly from Keqing’s stomach, holding her under the arms and setting her down beside the bed.

“That’s bad, Qinyu,” Ganyu said, her tone not unkind but undeniably assertive, one she rarely used. “You don’t climb on people while they’re sleeping. That’s not good behavior.”

It surprised even Keqing, how different Ganyu sounded in that moment.

If there was one thing Ganyu had learned last night, it was that firmness, not just kindness, got through to Qinyu best. Gentle words often washed past her like water on stone, but a steady tone, calm and resolute, settled in her better.

However, Qinyu’s little face crumpled, eyes growing glossy. “Are you mad at me, Mama?” she asked, her lower lip beginning to quiver

Ganyu froze, caught off guard. The intention did not yield the expected outcome. “What? No, of course not, Qinyu,” she said quickly, kneeling beside her. “I’m just… reminding you to behave.” She paused, glancing helplessly toward Keqing for a second as she scrambled for softer words. “Like a good girl. That’s all.”

Qinyu sniffled once, then gave a small nod. “Okay,” she whispered.

“Great,” Ganyu said, almost sagging in relief. “Now please wash yourself. Brush your teeth to freshen up, okay? Can you do that?”

Qinyu’s pout disappeared as quickly as it came, replaced by a wide, beaming smile. “Okay! Qinyu can!” she chirped, then happily turned and skipped toward the bathroom.

The, the door clicked shut behind her, and silence settled into the room once more.

Ganyu exhaled, letting out a long sigh, her shoulders finally relaxing. She let her eyes close for a moment—but the bed shifted beside her.

Keqing was slowly sitting up, fingers combing through her hair, eyes still slightly puffy from sleep, the sheets falling from her shoulders as she rubbed her temples groggily.

They looked at each other.

Ganyu couldn’t help it—her gaze fell on Keqing wearing the simple pajamas she lent her the night before, and the sight made her heart skip. Her face warmed in an instant. Keqing...in my clothes… in my bed.

Keqing, blinked and took in her surroundings again—the bed, the faint warmth of where Qinyu had been between them, the subtle floral scent of Ganyu lingering on the sheets. Her eyes widened just slightly as she processed it all. I slept here. With Ganyu. Her cheeks flushed deeper.

An awkward silence stretched between them. Then—almost simultaneously—they both averted their eyes.

Ganyu cleared her throat, brushing some hair behind her ear. “Good morning, Keqing,” she said, her voice soft but steady.

Keqing gave a small nod. “Good morning.”

Another pause.

“So, uh...” Ganyu started, trying to compose herself, “I prepared some breakfast. If you don’t mind a humble vegetable salad this morning.”

Keqing responded almost too quickly, “Thank you. It’s more than fine, Ganyu.” She stood from the bed, straightening her clothes absently as her expression turned more solemn. Her thoughts were already shifting, focusing—anchoring herself in something practical. “We should report to the Pavilion first,” she said, voice sharper now, her work mode slipping into place. “Then afterward, you can head to Mt. Aocang to inform the adepti. Whatever happened… they need to know.”

“All right,” Ganyu replied softly, her arms gently folding in front of her. “I’m sure they have answers to all of this… mysterious happenings.”

Mysterious happenings.

Chasm.

Qinyu.

A little child who claimed to be their daughter.

The thought echoed in both of their minds. Neither spoke it aloud. Instead, their eyes met again—tentative, unreadable.  And yet, there they stood—blushing faintly at the same thought:

This feels somewhat…

“I’m done!” Qinyu declared proudly, bolting out of the bathroom, her little feet pattering against the floor. Her silky hair bounced as she ran to them, a towel around her neck, face bright and eager.

The quiet was broken suddenly.

Ganyu and Keqing both blinked, startled by her sudden arrival.

The little girl paused, blinking at the two adults frozen like statues. “Is something wrong?” she asked innocently, tilting her head.

Ganyu shook her head quickly, glancing at Keqing before turning back to Qinyu. “Nothing,” she said, then cleared her throat. “I prepared breakfast. Let’s eat.”

“Yay!” Qinyu beamed—and then took off running again.

“Wait!” Ganyu called, alarmed. Keqing’s eyes widened and both of them dashed after her.

As expected, she’d headed for the kitchen.

Qinyu turned around just as they reached the threshold. “What’s for breakfast?” she asked sweetly, clearly unaware of the trail of concern, panic, and sighs she left behind.

“Don’t run off like that,” Keqing said, tone firm as she crossed her arms.

Qinyu pouted at once, her lips quivering a bit. “Mommy is always scolding me…”

Keqing sighed, and after a pause, knelt to her level. “It’s because you haven’t been a nice girl. You scared us.”

Ganyu joined her, kneeling beside Qinyu. “Yes, Qinyu. Please don’t do that again. It’s dangerous.”

“Sorry,” Qinyu murmured, cheeks puffed. But like a switch flipped, her mood brightened again. “So… what’s for breakfast?”

Keqing stood, rubbing the bridge of her nose, casting Ganyu a look that mirrored her own disbelief. Ganyu, still kneeling, blinked before finally answering, “Vegetable salad. Let’s now eat, okay?”

Qinyu immediately made a face. “But I don’t want to eat that…”

Keqing arched a brow. “Don’t be picky now.”

Qinyu pouted deeper, her big eyes shimmering like a sad, abandoned kitten. “But I really don’t want to… I want to eat shrimp.”

Both adults looked at each other in surprise.

“You?” Keqing asked, brow still raised. “Eat shrimp?”

Ganyu’s brows furrowed, voice gentle but confused. “Qinyu… you’re part-qilin, yes? We qilins don’t consume animal products. I’m sorry, but… it’s not something we’re supposed to eat.”

Qinyu looked back at her, face twisted in confusion. “But Mama… you let me eat shrimp before.”

Ganyu blinked. “I—what?”

There was a pause. A beat of silence that hung heavily in the air.

Keqing stared at Ganyu.

Ganyu stared at Qinyu.

Qinyu just tilted her head innocently.

“I’m pretty sure I would never let you eat shrimp,” Ganyu said slowly, her brows furrowed in deep thought. “You’re part-qilin, after all, so…” Her voice trailed off, her eyes narrowing slightly as she tried to recall anything that might contradict what she knew by heart.

“But Mama, you said before that shrimps are okay!” Qinyu insisted, puffing out her cheeks, as if personally wounded that Ganyu forgot. Then she turned her big, pleading eyes to the other adult in the room. “Mommy, please help me convince Mama!”

Keqing blinked, clearly caught off guard by the sudden appeal. She glanced between the child and Ganyu, then let out a tired sigh. “Qinyu… are you really telling us the truth?”

Qinyu stood up straighter like a soldier reporting to a general, her expression turning deadly serious. She nodded frantically. Then, as if reciting from a sacred text, she declared solemnly, “Eating only whole grains and drinking only spring water. To not bring any harm to plants nor insects. That is our oath to our qilin origins, Mama.”

Ganyu and Keqing both raised their brows, speechless at the sudden solemnity in her tone.

“But!” Qinyu added quickly, raising a finger as though invoking a law of exception, “You already promised me that I can eat shrimps. You said it was okay if shrimps were the only exception. And I am keeping my promise so far.” Qinyu placed a small hand over her chest. “Mama is the one not keeping her promise.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Ganyu opened her mouth, then closed it. Keqing did the same.

The two women stood frozen, staring dumbfounded at the tiny child between them.

Keqing leaned slightly toward Ganyu and whispered under her breath, “She recited the oath of qilins word for word.”

“I know,” Ganyu whispered back, dazed. “She did.”

Before either of them could gather their thoughts, Qinyu stepped forward again, tilting her head and clasping her hands with pleading eyes. “Please, Mama…” she said, stretching out the syllables just enough to tug at Ganyu’s very soul.

Ganyu visibly flinched. Her lips parted, her expression cracking with helplessness. “I… I…”

Noticing the way Ganyu seemed to be folding under the sheer power of childlike persuasion, Keqing swiftly stepped in. “Okay,” she said firmly, hands on her hips. “Let’s compromise.”

Qinyu blinked and looked up.

“Shrimp is off the menu for breakfast. For now,” Keqing said, glancing quickly at Ganyu. “Mama worked hard to make this breakfast, and you’re going to eat it. Shrimp will be for lunch. Deal?”

There was a tense pause—until Qinyu’s whole face lit up like the sun. “Deal!” she beamed, like a seasoned negotiator who just won her case in court.

Keqing exhaled. “Good.”

Meanwhile, Ganyu looked like she was teetering on the edge of collapse, one hand gently rubbing her temple. “I’ll… get the salad,” she muttered, almost to herself.

>>><<<

After their breakfast, the quiet shuffle of feet and rustling of fabric filled the house as the three of them prepared to head out.

Ganyu stood by her modest wardrobe, fingers gliding over neatly folded garments until she settled on something Keqing could wear. It wasn’t anything grand—just one of her spare hanfu sets she kept for long distance travels. She pulled it out with a thoughtful expression.

The outfit was a dark blue hanfu, its fabric sturdy but smooth to the touch. Unlike the more ceremonial or flowing types, this one was tapered and layered for ease of movement, the outer robe cut to mid-calf and secured with a fitted sash at the waist. The inner layer was a muted gray, peeking subtly at the collar and sleeves, and there were small silver cloud motifs embroidered at the hem—delicate but understated.

When Keqing emerged dressed in it, the outfit hugged her form modestly, refined, perfectly echoing her usual poise. Ganyu bit her lip, a soft blush on her cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” Ganyu murmured. “My wardrobe isn’t exactly… expansive.” And exquisite, Ganyu added in her mind.

But Keqing just shook her head with a small smile. “This is more than enough. Really, Ganyu. I don’t want to trouble you more than I already have.”

Ganyu pouted slightly, clearly unconvinced but too polite to argue further.

Meanwhile, Qinyu was perched on the edge of the bed, legs swinging as she waited for her turn. Ganyu turned her attention to her next task—getting Qinyu dressed.

She pulled out a simple cotton dress from a lower drawer. Pale blue with tiny cloud motifs stitched along the hem. It was faded but well cared for, the sort of garment meant for quiet play in the gardens rather than any kind of grand appearance. So different from the luxurious attire Qinyu had worn the day before—silk robes threaded with gold, sleeves lined in satin.

As Ganyu adjusted the hem of the dress around Qinyu’s knees, Keqing tilted her head. “Is that yours?” she asked. “From your childhood?”

Ganyu’s hands froze for a moment. Her cheeks colored faintly as she glanced up. “Yes,” she admitted softly. “It has been a long time ago.”

A dress personally tailored by her master for her childhood so far behind her that it felt like a dream. Yet here she was, dressing a child in the same fabric. A child who called her Mama.

Qinyu tugged at the skirt and giggled. “It’s so comfy, Mama!”

Ganyu’s heart gave a funny little squeeze. She smiled faintly.

Then, Qinyu bounced to her feet, arms thrown wide. “Let’s go!”

The wind brushed gently against their faces as they made their way through the Pavilion, weaving through cobbled streets and bustling markets. And as they passed through the heart of the city, eyes followed them—some with curiosity, others with thinly veiled speculation. Whispers stirred in their wake, drifting between market stalls and gathering in corners like wind-blown petals. Curious eyes lingered on the sight of their Yuheng and the General Secretary walking side by side—accompanied by a child. They wondered if the rumors were true. That the Yuheng and the General Secretary were…

Keqing just groans as she catches every glance cast their way. She said nothing, but her strides were just slightly quicker than usual. Ganyu kept a little closer to Qinyu. Though her expression remained neutral, her ears twitched ever so slightly at the whispers behind them. She was used to the attention her position brought—but this was different.

And here Qinyu, untouched by the weight of scrutiny, beamed up at everything they passed. She hummed a tune to herself, utterly nonchalant, skipping once or twice before looking at her quiet guardians with a grin.

By the time they stood inside the grand Jade Chamber, the tone had shifted. The scent of incense and the gleam of golden latticework filled the air as they stood before Ningguang, who was already seated at her desk, fingers steepled beneath her chin.

Ningguang’s sharp gaze flickered between them—Keqing, Ganyu, and the small figure of Qinyu who stood just slightly behind Ganyu’s legs, peeking out curiously.

“Good morning, Auntie Ning!” Qinyu chirped, stepping forward just enough to be seen clearly from behind Ganyu.

Ningguang's poised expression softened with faint amusement. “Good morning, Qinyu. Did you sleep well?”

Qinyu nodded enthusiastically. “Mmm,” she hummed. “Mama and Mommy were beside me, so Qinyu slept like a log!”

That earned a slight lift of Ningguang’s brow. Her golden gaze flicked toward Keqing and Ganyu, who both promptly looked away in perfect unison. “Is that so?” Ningguang mused, her voice laced with unmistakable teasing.

Keqing cleared her throat hastily, bringing the conversation back to business. “Any news regarding the Chasm?”

Ningguang leaned back slightly in her chair, her expression cooling. “Nothing of note. The same status as when you left it yesterday. But rest assured, the new safety protocols and area restrictions are being implemented as we speak.”

Keqing nodded, relaxing slightly. “That’s good to hear. Well then, I’ll return to my office to finish drafting—”

“You don’t need to,” Ningguang interrupted smoothly. “I already took care of that.”

Keqing blinked. “You… did?”

“I did.” Ningguang folded her hands neatly over her desk. “Keqing, it’s best if you accompany Ganyu to the adepti.”

Keqing and Ganyu exchanged a look.

“Are you sure?” Keqing asked after a beat. “Keeping both the Yuheng and the General Secretary away from their posts at a time like this…”

“This mysterious event is centered around you three,” Ningguang said firmly. “Don’t tell me you’re planning to hole yourself up in your office, drowning in paperwork, when something beyond our understanding is unfolding under our very noses.”

“Fine, fine,” Keqing relented, almost too quickly, letting out a breath as she shifted her gaze toward Ganyu. Her voice was quieter this time. “So, umm… let’s go?”

Ganyu nodded gently. “We’ll take our leave then, Ningguang,” she said, offering a respectful bow.

“See you later, Auntie Ning!” Qinyu waved brightly as they turned to leave.

Ningguang smiled faintly, watching the trio. “Take care now.”

>>><<<

As they stepped out of the Jade Chamber, the world unfurled before them in breathtaking expanse. High above the harbor, clouds drifted lazily underfoot, while peaks dotted the horizon in distant serenity.

Keqing shielded her eyes briefly, scanning the view toward the distant Mt. Aocang. “How do we get there fast…” she murmured under her breath, thinking aloud.

But Ganyu, walking just beside her, heard her nonetheless. “Umm… if I may,” she began, voice gentle.

Keqing turned, curious. “What is it, Ganyu? You have any suggestions on how we get to Mt. Aocang quickly?”

“I know! I know!” Qinyu cut in with a bright grin, throwing her hand into the air like a student eager to recite. “Mama can turn into her qilin form! Then we can ride Mama all the way from here to Mt. Aocang!”

Keqing blinked. “Ride… Ganyu?” Her eyes widened. “Wait—you can… do that?” She’s surprised. She has never seen Ganyu’s qilin form before after all.

Ganyu flushed, a soft pink rising to her cheeks. “That’s what I was about to say,” she murmured, brushing back a stray lock of hair. “I don’t use that form often nowadays...”

Keqing stammered, still caught off guard. “Is that… really okay with you?”

Before Ganyu could answer, Qinyu puffed her cheeks. “But Mommy, we’ve already done this a few times! Why can’t we do it now?”

The two women exchanged glances—tired, resigned, and yet quietly amused. They sighed in perfect sync.

“It’s fine,” Ganyu finally said, nodding. “Though…” her voice dropped to a whisper, barely audible, “I will have to bother you with… holding my clothes. I need to… um… undress first.”

Keqing flushed immediately. “A-Alright. Anything else I can do for you?”

Ganyu swayed on her feet slightly, her gaze darting left and right. They were alone—no guards, no aides, no onlookers. Just them and the open sky.

“Well, for starters,” Ganyu said, voice trembling with embarrassment, “please turn around.”

Keqing nodded, a hint too fast. “R-Right.” She turned her back, standing stiffly like a Millelith soldier at attention.

“Qinyu, too,” Ganyu added gently.

“But Mommy and I already saw Mama naked lots of times! What’s changed?” Qinyu protested, tilting her head.

Ganyu’s heart skipped at the bluntness, heat rising all the way to her ears.

Keqing—utterly flustered as well—quickly stepped beside Qinyu and turned the child around by the shoulders. “Qinyu, sometimes… sometimes women need privacy,” she said, scrambling for an excuse.

“Even though we’ve seen Mama’s naked body lots of times?” Qinyu asked innocently.

Keqing cut in quickly, nearly tripping over her words. “Yes! Even so…”

Behind them, Ganyu let out a breath, then cleared her throat. “N-No peeking, please…”

Silence followed. Then, a faint rustle of fabric. The air turned cooler, tinged with the faintest scent of flora and mist. A gentle chime echoed in the stillness, and then her voice—no longer soft but resonant, serene, ancient even—spoke, “I’m done.”

Keqing turned around.

There, standing where Ganyu had been moments before, was her adeptal form—a vision of myth made manifest. Her towering qilin form glowed faintly beneath the morning sun. Delicate, light azure fur shimmered like frost under moonlight, smooth and sleek. Pale markings curled along her limbs and sides like natural filigree. Her mane and tail flowed with glacial grace, mist trailing faintly behind her with every small movement. Her horns crowned her head like elegant branches of coral, radiant with celestial light. Her eyes—still unmistakably Ganyu’s—held a quiet gentleness, filled with warmth and an otherworldly calm.

Qinyu clapped. “Mama’s so pretty!”

Keqing’s breath caught in her throat. She wasn’t sure if what she was seeing was meant for mortal eyes—if such a serene and ethereal vision was something a human was even allowed to witness. The qilin before her radiated quiet divinity, beauty that didn’t demand reverence, but gently inspired it.

Then, the qilin turned her head slightly, glancing at Keqing from the corner of her eye. “You’re staring too much…” came Ganyu’s voice—familiar, sweet, and unmistakably bashful despite its celestial lilt.

Keqing blinked, snapped from her reverie. She coughed lightly, looking away. “Sorry. I just—sorry.” She shuffled awkwardly in place, stooping to gather Ganyu’s clothes and folding them neatly in her arms, as if the small task might help her regain composure. “So… um… how do I… I mean, how do we…” She grimaced. “Hop on? Ride on you? I’m sorry, I really couldn’t find a more… sophisticated term for this.”

“It’s okay,” Ganyu said almost at once, her voice gentle and kind. She lowered herself, bending her forelegs and flattening her body slightly to allow easier access. “Just… hop on. I’ll take us to Mt. Aocang.”

Qinyu wasted no time. With the ease of someone who had done this many times before, she clambered onto Ganyu’s back like it was the most natural thing in the world. Her small hands gripped gently at the thick tufts of Ganyu’s mane, her face gleaming with joy.

Keqing, meanwhile, stood still. Watching. Her heart thumped. Once again, she questioned if this was truly appropriate.

“Come on, Mommy!” Qinyu called cheerfully, extending a hand toward her.

Letting out a long sigh, Keqing stepped forward, placing her foot carefully against Ganyu’s lowered side and hauling herself up with as much grace as she could manage. Her hands settled against the qilin’s flank, her legs straddling the curve of Ganyu’s back. The sensation was… divine.

Her palms sunk into the soft, silken fur—cloudlike and warm with a faint shimmer of dew. Keqing blinked. Fluffy. So, so incredibly fluffy. The fluffiest thing she had ever touched. And she was touching it a lot.

The qilin flinched, just barely, a twitch that rippled through her graceful frame. “It… it tickles,” Ganyu’s voice stammered, as flustered as it was breathless.

Keqing immediately yanked her hands back. “I’m so sorry!”

“It’s alright,” Ganyu replied almost at once, too fast, nearly interrupting herself.

Qinyu giggled from her place in front. “Awww, you made Mama blush, Mommy!”

“Q-Qinyu!” Ganyu exclaimed in a scandalized whine—but she quickly cleared her throat, trying to recompose herself. “I… I’ll set off now. Please hold on tightly.”

Keqing groaned inwardly. Her entire body felt like it was burning. With a resigned breath, she carefully pulled Qinyu back into her lap, placing the child securely in front of her so that Qinyu’s back rested against her chest. One arm wrapped gently around the little girl, holding her close, while the other clutched Ganyu’s neatly folded clothes, tucked safely against her side.

“Be a good girl and behave, okay?” she murmured into Qinyu’s ear. “Hold on to me tight.”

Qinyu nodded seriously, “Alright! Qinyu will.”

Then, with a breath that misted in the morning air, Ganyu began to move.

Her hooves stepped lightly, gracefully—and then lifted off the edge of the Jade Chamber. For a moment, it was like they were suspended in midair. Then, one step, two… Keqing saw it. Each hoof landed not on clouds or wind, but on faintly glowing, invisible platforms—like stepping stones in the sky, conjured by adeptal power. There was no stumble, no sway—only steady, silent ascent.

Keqing held her breath in awe. Even this… even the way Ganyu moved, light and controlled and so quiet in her power… it made her heart beat faster.

“Is the speed okay?” came Ganyu’s voice from beneath her, soft and concerned. “Not making you dizzy or uncomfortable?”

Keqing smiled faintly, the wind brushing gently through her hair. “It’s just alright, Ganyu. Thank you for asking.”

“I’m glad,” Ganyu replied warmly.

And so, like that, they soared onward—three figures high in the morning sky, crossing the clouds toward the peak of Mt. Aocang.

>>><<< 

The moment their hooves touched the rocky path of Mt. Aocang, the journey came to a gentle halt. Keqing and Qinyu slid off of Ganyu’s qilin form and landed softly on solid ground.

“P-please turn around,” came Ganyu’s voice—bashful, and unmistakably flustered.

Keqing turned away immediately, her back straight, hands clenched by her sides. She heard the faint sounds—mist and air shifting.

And then, “My clothes, please,” came Ganyu’s voice again—this time no longer reverberant or ancient-sounding, but soft and all too human.

Ganyu had returned to her human form again. Naked—completely so—just behind Keqing’s back.

The thought struck Keqing like a lightning bolt, and her heart began to race even more. Faster. And faster. She tried to suppress it, biting the inside of her cheek, staring hard at the distant clouds, but her ears were burning.

Without looking, Keqing extended her arm behind her, twisting just enough to offer the neatly folded garments she'd been carrying. She could feel the warmth of Ganyu’s fingers as they brushed against hers, taking the clothes from her grip. The light rustle of silk followed.

A beat of silence.

“I’m done.”

Keqing exhaled and turned. Ganyu stood once more in her usual qipao. But her face was shaded with worry, a tension drawing at the corners of her mouth.

“Let’s go,” Ganyu said quietly.

Keqing gave a nod in return, her voice caught somewhere between her chest and throat. Qinyu, of course, broke the tension with a cheer and a small bounce.

Moments later, they approached the familiar pond nestled beside Cloud Retainer’s abode. Mist wreathed the still water like gauze, and the landscape stretched in timeless serenity. Under the shade of an ancient tree, Cloud Retainer stood waiting.

“One has sensed your arrival,” the adeptus spoke, her voice rich and commanding, though softened with familiarity.

Before greetings could be exchanged, Qinyu darted forward and threw her arms around Cloud Retainer’s wings. “Grandma!” she beamed, her tiny fingers curling into the white feathers.

Cloud Retainer blinked slowly, eyes flicking from child to Ganyu and then Keqing. “You two owe one a great deal of explanation,” she said, bewilderment beginning to seep into her tone.

Gently, her wing moved to draw Qinyu back just enough to study her more closely. Her face, her eyes, her… horns. Those adorably cute, little horns.

“How many years has it been since you last visited one, Ganyu?” she murmured, voice nearly breaking into small sobs. “And now you bring one your child—with the Yuheng.”

“No, no—no,” Keqing and Ganyu said in sync, hastily.

“We just saw each other last month, Master. It’s nothing like that. I can explain,” Ganyu said quickly, casting a meaningful look at Keqing.

Keqing took the cue and gently knelt beside Qinyu. “Qinyu, let’s go over there and play for a bit, okay?”

“But I wanna be with Grandma…” Qinyu’s voice trembled with protest.

Keqing could hear the subtle, restrained sound of a sob from behind her—from Cloud Retainer. “You will,” She assured her softly. “Mama and Clou— I mean… Grandma just need to talk first. Alone.”

Qinyu huffed, but nodded. “Okay…”

She followed Keqing a short distance away, casting one last glance over her shoulder before settling near a patch of grass.

Once the child was safely out of earshot, Ganyu straightened, took a breath, and faced her mentor.

And then, she began to explain everything.

-

Ganyu stared at her master, the mist curling softly around her ankles. Her hands were folded tightly in front of her, fingers fidgeting. She had said everything—every detail she and Keqing had managed to piece together. And now, with the silence stretching long and heavy, she finally asked, “What do you think, Master?”

Cloud Retainer hummed low in her throat, contemplative, her eyes narrowed as she turned to gaze at the misty sky beyond. “A child born in the future, now existing in our present. Like the legends of a time travel, hmm…” She trailed off, shaking her head slowly. “There is no other plausible explanation… and yet, there is no plausible evidence to support it either.”

Ganyu let out a soft sigh, almost resigned. “I know. We’re at our wit’s end trying to make sense of it. That’s why we came. We were hoping… perhaps the adepti might know something. Anything.”

Cloud Retainer shook her head, her long feathers rustling with the motion. “One is sorry, child. One is as baffled as you are. Time travel is… well, nothing more than a legend. A tale passed from the primordial times. One has never known it to be real. One has never known it to be practiced.”

Her gaze then shifted, sharp and steady, toward Qinyu—who was laughing now as Keqing knelt beside her, mimicking the shape of a butterfly with her hands.

“But that child…” Cloud Retainer murmured, “There is no doubt. She is of your blood. You, Ganyu, are the last of your kind. And the child—her horns, her features—they are unmistakable. She is part-qilin. She resembles the Yuheng very much, too.”

Ganyu swallowed, face flushing.

“If what you say is true,” Cloud Retainer continued, “and you two never copulated—”

Ganyu choked, her face going scarlet. “M-Master!”

Cloud Retainer blinked, nonplussed. “What? One uses the correct term. That is what mortals do to reproduce, is it not?”

Ganyu blushed at the mention of the word. Copulate, of all things… They hadn’t even held hands, for goodness’ sake. Keqing didn’t know about the tiny butterflies that stirred in her stomach every time Keqing showed Ganyu even the smallest kindness. And most importantly, Ganyu didn’t even know if the feeling was mutual.

“So… you have a crush on the Yuheng,” Cloud Retainer remarked casually, cutting straight through Ganyu’s train of thought.

“Wha–What?!” Ganyu spluttered, flustered and wide-eyed.

“Well,” Cloud Retainer said, calmly folding her wings. “Considering the existence of a child between you two in the future, what else is there to think?”

Ganyu groaned and pressed her palms to her face. “Please don’t tease me. Keqing is just… just a few meters away.”

“So it’s true then?”

There was a pause then Ganyu responded, nodding meekly. Her hands dropped slowly to her sides, fingers curling in her sleeves. “But please, never, ever mention this to Keqing,” she said firmly, stressing and emphasizing each word like they were carved in stone. Her voice, usually soft and melodic, now held a rare sharpness, a quiet desperation. She paused then, eyes falling to the ground, her voice dropping into something more fragile—uncertain, even a little wistful. “I don’t even know if she feels the same...” she added, pouting faintly.

Cloud Retainer let out a long, knowing sigh. “Ganyu, dear, might one remind you that you have a child with the Yuheng in the future?”

Ganyu’s head snapped up, flustered. “That’s in the future,” she countered, the words tumbling out defensively. “It’s very, very different from what’s in the present.”

She meant it, too. The version of herself from the future might have been braver—more assured, more certain of what she wanted. But the present her? She could hardly bring herself to acknowledge her own feelings, let alone act on them.

Cloud Retainer studied her carefully, noticing the turmoil swimming in Ganyu’s gaze—the hesitation, the hidden longing, the tangled uncertainty she could barely keep contained. “Alright,” the adeptus relented with a sigh, wings folding neatly to her sides. “One promises not to speak of this matter to the Yuheng.”

Ganyu let out a slow, quiet breath of relief, her shoulders easing slightly. For now, her secret would remain safe.

“Mama! Grandma!” Qinyu’s voice rang brightly through the air as she dashed toward them, her small feet light against the grass. Keqing followed behind, panting ever so slightly, trying to catch her breath.

“I want to play with Grandma now!” Qinyu chirped, tugging gently at Cloud Retainer’s wing. “Can I, Grandma?”

Cloud Retainer let out a soft, emotional sound again—something between a chuckle and a sob. The sight of this child tugged at something tender in her. But after a moment, she lightly shook her head.

“As much as one is completely enamored with entertaining you, One is afraid that your Mama and one have yet to finish our discussion,” the adeptus said gently, her voice full of fondness.

Keqing finally reached them and placed a hand on Qinyu’s shoulder, catching her breath. “I apologize,” she said with a sheepish smile, glancing down at the child. “As much as I hate to admit it… Qinyu is faster than me.”

Then, her eyes met Ganyu’s. They locked gazes for a moment—until Ganyu quickly averted hers.

Ganyu wasn’t sure how to look at Keqing now, not after acknowledging these giddy feelings stirring inside her.

Cloud Retainer hummed thoughtfully. “Not to worry, Yuheng. One is almost done with discussing with Ganyu. Unfortunately…” she trailed off, glancing toward Ganyu, “One is not a great help either. Perhaps the one who may offer proper insight to this situation is…”

She paused, her tone shifting slightly—measured, weighty. “…Rex Lapis.”

Ganyu’s breath caught in her throat. As I thought, she said to herself. There’s no one else who might know more.

“But…” Keqing began aloud, “we don’t know where Rex Lapis is now…”

The two adepti shared a glance—subtle, knowing. Ganyu’s mind immediately raced. Right… Keqing doesn’t know yet… that Rex Lapis is also—

But before Ganyu could finish the thought, the sound of footsteps echoed behind them. All heads turned.

“Mr. Zhongli?” Keqing asked, eyes widening slightly at the sight of the Funeral Parlor consultant at the peaks of Mt. Aocang. “What are you doing up here?”

Just a moment later, Qinyu squealed with delight and ran to him. “Uncle! Uncle!”

Zhongli laughed softly, bending down to scoop the little girl into his arms. He patted her head gently, his voice warm and amused. “Why, aren’t you an energetic one?”

Keqing blinked. She glanced between Ganyu and Cloud Retainer, noticing how both now stood upright—tense, no, not tense exactly. They stood in reverence. In quiet, dignified deference. Something was… off. Her brows furrowed.

“Don’t mind me too much, Yuheng,” Zhongli said, turning to face Keqing fully. “I simply heard from the wind and the mountains that here stays a little child… who should not be here.”

His words held weight. “I would like to lend a hand in this unforeseeable predicament.”

Keqing’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. There was something she wasn’t being told. Something sitting just beneath the surface. “…Just who are you?” she murmured under her breath, almost to herself.

But Zhongli heard her. And instead of brushing it off, he turned his gaze to her. “I did not mean to deceive you, Yuheng,” he said calmly.

He closed his eyes. And when he opened them—

Radiant gold.

Unmistakably divine.

“It is I,” he said, his voice deeper, resonating with otherworldly authority.

“…Rex Lapis.”

Chapter Text

“I am Rex Lapis.”

Keqing wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, as if doing so would make the vision before her more believable. Her lips parted, but no sound came. Her gaze fixed on Zhongli—no, Rex Lapis—his calm, golden eyes unwavering beneath the morning sun.

Beside her, Ganyu watched in growing concern. For someone who had long challenged the existence of the Archons, Keqing’s sudden confrontation with divine truth was... a lot. Though Ganyu knew Keqing’s perspective had changed… still.

But before the tension could settle deep into the roots of the moment, a squeal echoed across the vast peaks of Aocang—shrill, delighted, and entirely unbothered.

“So cool! Uncle is so cool!” Qinyu beamed, still clinging tightly to Zhongli’s neck, her small legs kicking lightly in excitement.

Zhongli laughed, a deep, resonant sound that rolled warmly through the air. “Can Qinyu become as cool as Uncle?” she asked, her voice high with wonder.

Zhongli paused, thoughtful. “Hmm… If Qinyu hones her adeptal abilities with dedication and listens well to the guidance of her mothers, then I see no reason why she could not.”

“Yey!” Qinyu shouted, bouncing in his arms.

Keqing finally exhaled, then placed a hand over her chest—half for grounding herself, half for dramatic effect. “So. Liyue’s God of Contracts leaves his post, fakes his death, reinvents himself as a funeral consultant... and now cooes children.”

Zhongli chuckled. “One must adapt to the changing times.”

Ganyu let out a long, audible sigh of relief at their exchange.

Then, Zhongli gently lowered Qinyu onto the smooth cobblestone ledge, right beside Ganyu. The little girl did not resist—instead, she happily slipped to Ganyu’s side and nestled herself comfortably. Ganyu offered a comforting smile and rested a warm hand on Qinyu’s shoulder, encouraging her to settle while the grown-ups spoke.

Then Zhongli spoke, his voice steady and deliberate. “There has been a significant disturbance in the ley lines across this region. Their flow has become unstable—warped, and occasionally resonating with traces of temporal dissonance.”

His gaze shifted meaningfully to Keqing and Ganyu, eyes gentle yet grave. “It appears Qinyu was caught within one of these unstable intersections. The irregularity created a temporal breach… and through it, she was brought here—displaced from a future that has yet to unfold in our time.”

Cloud Retainer’s eyes narrowed, feathers rustling in thought. “You mean to say… this child slipped into our present through fractured ley lines?”

Zhongli nodded. “That is the current conclusion. However…” He paused, the weight of his next words hanging in the crisp mountain air.

Keqing noticed and then urges him to continue.

Zhongli looked at her for a moment, contemplative. “Even if I were to say it,” he said quietly, “it may still make little sense. This is knowledge scarcely known, even among gods.”

Keqing’s brows twitched ever so slightly. “I’ll listen—and try to understand, to the best of my abilities.”

The former Archon inclined his head, accepting her resolve. “Very well.”

He took a breath.

“For an unknown reason, it appears the Goddess of Time—Istaroth—may be involved.”

A tense hush fell over the group.

Cloud Retainer’s feathers ruffled in surprise, while Ganyu stiffened beside Qinyu.

Keqing’s hand tightened around her sleeve, confusion and concern flickering across her face as she observed Cloud Retainer and Ganyu’s reactions. Her home, Liyue—once built on contracts, adepti, and the ancient balance—now faced the unseen hand of a deity beyond her comprehension. She finally spoke, voice quiet but resolute: “A god I’m not aware existed… meddling in the ley lines… And bringing a child through time?”

Cloud Retainer closed her eyes, feathers ruffling slightly as though even her centuries of wisdom strained against the weight of such implications. “Time travel has always been confined to myth. But when the ley lines fracture, and the goddess of time intercedes… what is impossible becomes inevitable.”

Qinyu looked from face to face, her brow furrowed in quiet confusion as she tried to make sense of the heavy tension in the air. Ganyu offered silent comfort, gently patting the child’s shoulder—a quiet reassurance that she was safe.

Zhongli met the others' gazes calmly. “I do not yet know Istaroth’s intentions. But if she can bend the ley and time currents… if a child can fall through the seams of time… then we face a phenomenon that concerns even the Heavenly Principles.”

The air tightened again as Cloud Retainer added gravely, “Our first duty is to restore stability to the ley lines—and then, to return this child to her rightful time. Or… find a way for her to belong in ours. But to do either, you both must be prepared.”

Ganyu glanced at Qinyu—so small, so full of light—and then turned to Keqing. “We’ll do our best,” she said softly.

Keqing’s nod was firm.

Then, Zhongli raised a hand gently, the weight in his voice easing. “Fret not. You need not do anything—at least, not yet. I know of someone… someone more acquainted with the God of Time and with the turning of time itself. They will help resolve this matter.”

Ganyu and Keqing turned toward each other before their gazes returned to Zhongli, uncertain.

“Rex Lapis… is there truly nothing you require of us?' Ganyu asked softly, her voice laced with quiet concern and deference."

Keqing stepped forward, resolute. “If there’s anything I must do—even if it seems impossible—I’ll do it. We’ll do it.”

Zhongli offered a calm, almost melancholic smile and shook his head. “No. Time is not a thread to be pulled lightly. Even I cannot fully explain or resolve this particular dilemma. Its strands lie beyond mortal comprehension… and even beyond that of the adepti. We need someone with expertise—” Then he whispers to himself, “…someone who exists where time does not flow in a straight line.”

He closed his eyes, thoughtful. He continues. “I know exactly who can help us.” He opened them again, golden irises steady as mountains. “So for now, I ask of you both only this—leave this matter to me. Let me seek the answers. Your task is to protect and care for Qinyu. And continue overseeing the Chasm. That is where your hearts—and your strength—are needed most.”

As the last word settled into the hush between the peaks, all eyes drifted once more to Qinyu.

The child blinked innocently, still seated beside Ganyu with her hands tucked in her lap. She tilted her head curiously, her voice soft but clear. “Return me from where?”

The question, simple and unburdened, carried a startling weight.

From the way her eyes darted from face to face, it was clear—Qinyu hadn’t grasped a single thread of the complicated matter being discussed before her. To her, this was not a crisis, nor a mystery that unraveled reality. This was just… life.

Ganyu leaned in slightly, her hand still resting gently on Qinyu’s small shoulder. Her voice, ever soft and calming. “Don’t worry about that, Qinyu. It’s nothing you need to think about. Just pay it no mind, alright?”

Qinyu looked up at her mother, studying Ganyu’s serene face for a moment, then nodded with a light hum. “Okay, Mama.”

A small smile touched Ganyu’s lips.

But Keqing wasn’t ready to let the subject go. She straightened, arms crossing lightly over her chest, the other adjusting her sleeves. “That still doesn’t answer another question.”

Zhongli regarded her with a raised brow. “What is it, Yuheng?”

Keqing inhaled and then said plainly—matter-of-fact and utterly deadpan: “It doesn’t explain how Ganyu and I have a child together. I mean... we’re both women.”

Ganyu’s face went completely red.

Cloud Retainer cleared her throat quite audibly, and Rex Lapis—Zhongli—couldn’t quite suppress the amused chuckle that rumbled in his chest. Even Qinyu giggled.

“Mommy is playing games again,” Qinyu chimed in brightly. “How can you forget how you and Mama made Qinyu?”

Keqing’s eyes widened. “Wha—?! I—I—!” she stammered, her composure unraveling at record speed.

Before she could drown in a sea of embarrassment, Zhongli stepped forward, as calm as ever. “It seems there are clarifications that ought to be made,” he said with measured tone. “I will leave the explanations to Cloud Retainer… and to Ganyu, Yuheng.”

Keqing opened her mouth to protest, but Zhongli was already turning to Qinyu, his smile deepening.

“For the meantime,” he said, extending a gloved hand to the little girl, “why don’t Qinyu and I walk around, enjoy the scenery, and maybe play for a little while? What do you think?”

Qinyu’s eyes sparkled. “Mmm!” she hummed in affirmation, quickly slipping her small hand into his.

As she trotted off happily beside Zhongli, Ganyu let out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

Now, with the child out of earshot, only Ganyu, Keqing, and Cloud Retainer remained—and the question that lingered between them.

Cloud Retainer’s gaze flicked knowingly toward the pair. “Well,” she said at last, “where shall we begin?”

“Well,” Keqing said at last, arms still lightly crossed. “We can start with what you already know.”

Ganyu tried to meet Keqing’s gaze—but faltered. Her fingers fidgeted in front of her, curling in and out of her sleeves. She turned her attention to Cloud Retainer instead, her voice soft but clear.

“Not to be rude or anything, Master…” Ganyu hesitated, then drew in a breath. “But I’d like to discuss this… matter with Keqing. Alone.”

Cloud Retainer ruffled her feathers with surprising speed—as though seizing the chance to excuse herself from what was bound to be an awkward encounter. “Gladly,” she declared, almost too quickly. Then she coughed, straightening with the dignity of an old scholar. “That is… ahem. What one means to say is that this is a prudent course of action. Thus, one shall take her leave.”

With that, she turned and departed across the cobblestones—perhaps a little faster than she normally would—until she was no longer in earshot.

Keqing turned back to Ganyu, one brow raised. “So?”

Ganyu swallowed hard. “Well,” she began, voice barely audible. “There is something I read a long time ago…”

She glanced down again, fiddling with the edge of her sleeve. “In theory,” she said carefully, “the human forms taken on by adeptibeasts are not fixed—they are shaped by intention, identity, and will. That is, we do not inherit our mortal appearances… we choose them, consciously or subconsciously, as representations of how we view ourselves.”

Keqing blinked. “So you’re saying…”

“I’m saying,” Ganyu cut in gently, “that in theory, it’s possible for an adeptus to alter their human form in ways that align more closely with how they feel or who they want to become.” Her words grew quieter. “Including sexual characteristics.” She cleared the lump that was stuck in her throat then she continues. “At least, according to the old writings from the early Adepti traditions. It’s not often talked about. Most adepti maintain the forms they first assumed—and it’s not something I’ve ever attempted myself.”

Keqing tilted her head. “So you’re saying you could just… switch?”

Ganyu raised both hands defensively, her cheeks flushed. “In theory! I-I mean, I’ve never tried, and I’ve never met another adeptus who did. But the possibility exists according to the ancient texts. Because the human form we take is symbolic—not bound by the rules that govern mortal anatomy.”

Keqing placed a hand on her forehead, eyes narrowed slightly as if trying to process everything all at once. “So I’ll be the one bearing a child?” she murmured to herself, barely above a whisper.

Ganyu tilted her head, catching only the shape of Keqing’s lips, not the words. “What is it?” she asked softly.

But Keqing quickly shook her head. “Nothing,” she said—too quickly. Her tone clipped and unreadable. “It’s nothing,” she repeated, but even she knew it was more for herself than Ganyu.

Still, Ganyu sensed it—the shift in Keqing’s demeanor. The cooling air between them. Something about the thought clearly unsettled Keqing, and though she said nothing outright, Ganyu could feel the hesitance, the subtle retreat.

It stung more than she expected, but Ganyu quickly shake off the feeling. She should not have such feelings. She had to remind herself that the Keqing she married and built a family with existed in the future, not the one standing before her now—the one who looked like she wanted to be anywhere else but here.

“So, umm… what do we do now?” she asked, masking the wobble in her tone with a small, practiced smile. “Shall we head back to the Harbor? Report our findings to Lady Ningguang and the rest of the Qixing?”

Keqing glanced sideways, then let out a short sigh. “I think… I’ll leave that to you, Ganyu. I—” She paused, contemplative. Then her gaze drifted away toward the horizon. “I’ll head to the Chasm,” she said finally. “I want to monitor the status there personally.”

Ganyu blinked. “What about Qinyu?”

A brief pause.

Keqing’s eyes flicked back, her expression unreadable once more—like she'd only now remembered Qinyu was part of the equation. “Right,” she said, as if the thought hadn’t yet settled into place. Then she added, “Qinyu can stay with you.”

Ganyu murmured, almost to herself, “But the tantrums…”

 “Don’t worry. I’ll try my best to finish my transactions in the Chasm quickly.” Keqing said almost immediately.

Ganyu gave a slow nod, though her brows drew in with quiet concern. She had her doubts—Keqing was diligent, yes, but she could delegate. There were officers and personnel perfectly capable of overseeing the Chasm’s activity. She almost said as much. But she knew how stubborn Keqing could be—especially when she needed space.

“I’ll take you to the Chasm,” Ganyu offered.

Keqing shook her head. “Just drop me off at the Pavilion. I’ll find my way to the Chasm from there. I need to go home first to fetch my work clothes anyways.”

Ganyu’s brows furrowed. “Your ankle…”

“No need to worry about that,” Keqing said, already turning away. “I’m fine, Ganyu.”

The words were polite. Distant. And they landed heavier than they should have.

Ganyu remained where she stood, a silent sigh caught behind her lips, watching Keqing’s back once again retreat into uncertainty.

Qinyu came running back toward them, her small feet pattering quickly against the cobblestones. Her face was scrunched in worry, concern flicking across her features. “Are you fighting?” she asked, her voice soft but urgent.

Ganyu’s eyes flicked toward Keqing. Keqing did the same.

“Of course not,” Ganyu answered quickly, crouching to meet Qinyu’s eyes. Her voice was gentle, steady. “We have to go back to the Pavilion any moment now, so get ready, okay?”

Qinyu nodded slowly, though the unease hadn’t quite left her. Her gaze lingered, flicking between Keqing and Ganyu as if she were trying to read something she couldn’t fully understand. “Alright,” she said unenthusiastically. “I’ll just say bye-bye to Grandma first.”

With that, the little girl turned and strode off toward Cloud Retainer’s direction, her small figure moving with a solemn sense of duty.

Then Zhongli approached, calm and composed as ever, his amber eyes holding the weight of unspoken knowledge. He stopped before the two women and spoke with measured gravity. “I will be departing now to seek the one who can assist us,” he said. “Remember my words. Take care of the child. She may not fully comprehend what has happened to her—that she has been transported to another timeline. But even if she cannot grasp the enormity of it, she will feel the difference. Children always do.”

He let the silence linger for a breath, then added, his voice gentler, “Please… provide her with stability, and more importantly—a sense of normalcy.”

Keqing stood silently for a moment, then nodded and sighed. “Alright,” she said at last. “We’ll leave it up to you then. Thank you.”

Zhongli dipped his head, acknowledging her words. Then his gaze shifted toward Ganyu—softening just slightly. Though his expression remained unreadable to Keqing, there was a quiet understanding in his eyes. “To carry unspoken feelings is a quiet strength,” he said to Ganyu, voice low. “But even the gentle must learn to reach or else they will never know.”

Ganyu’s breath caught faintly. The words struck deeper than she expected, and though she said nothing, her cheeks colored as she averted her gaze, fingers curling slightly at her sides.

Keqing tilted her head in mild confusion. “What was that about?”

“Nothing,” Ganyu said quickly, flustered, her voice pitched higher than usual.

Zhongli’s lips quirked ever so slightly in amusement.

And for a moment, all was quiet again—save for the wind brushing through the peaks and Qinyu’s distant voice, laughing fondly as she said goodbye to Grandma.

Ganyu and Keqing turned to look back at where Qinyu was—now tugging gently at Cloud Retainer’s wing, trying to drag her forward with all the strength her little body could muster. The child’s determination was endearing, and despite her size, Cloud Retainer allowed herself to be guided with amused indulgence.

Just as they were about to greet the pair, a sudden breeze swept across the peak, stirring Ganyu’s hair and rustling Keqing’s sleeves. When they turned back— Rex Lapis was gone.

“Aww… Uncle left already,” Qinyu pouted, her face falling ever so slightly.

Cloud Retainer leaned down, her voice cooing and affectionate. “Worry not, dear child. Your Uncle has a very important matter to attend to—he departs not out of neglect, but duty.”

Qinyu nodded solemnly, seeming to accept the answer. She then turned back to Ganyu and Keqing, brightening. “Mama, Mommy—say bye-bye to Grandma!”

Ganyu stifled a laugh behind her hand as Qinyu ran over and planted herself firmly beside her, small hands clutching at the side of her thigh. With a gentle nudge, she urged Ganyu forward.

Straightening, Ganyu bowed respectfully. “We’ll head back to the Harbor now, Master.”

Cloud Retainer hummed softly. “One awaits your good news.” Then, with an unexpected casualness, she added, “And perhaps… one considers settling in the Harbor for the time being, in this old one’s human form.”

Ganyu’s eyes widened. “What? Why?”

Cloud Retainer scoffed, almost playfully, as if the answer were self-evident. “Why, of course—to visit my granddaughter. Must one truly explain something so obvious?”

Qinyu giggled with glee. “Grandma already lives in the Harbor! So I don’t get why you have to come back here!”

Cloud Retainer chuckled at her innocence, then turned her eyes on Keqing. “Keqing.”

The name alone made Keqing straighten reflexively. She had always expected the formal ‘Yuheng’ from Cloud Retainer. Whenever the adeptus chose otherwise, it always struck her—unexpectedly personal.

“Yes, Cloud Retainer?”

“Please continue taking care of Ganyu,” she said plainly, her voice stripped of any riddles or grandiose air. “As you have promised once—and as you have done up to now.”

Ganyu sucked in a breath, dread curling in her stomach, hoping—praying—her master wouldn’t say more.

But Keqing nodded, her voice firm. “Of course. As I’ve done before and until now… I’ll take care of Ganyu.”

Then, Keqing looked at Qinyu. “And Qinyu too.”

The little girl’s face lit up for a moment, her joy plain as daylight—but it didn’t last. Her gaze dropped to the ground, her feet swaying lightly as if unsure of something. Her hands curled into the fabric of her dress, and she gave a small, absent nod.

Cloud Retainer observed the moment with a soft hum. “Good, good. Now, be on your way, then.”

Only then did Ganyu release the breath she’d been holding. A quiet sigh left her, relief mixing with weariness. She bowed her head once more. “We’ll get going now, Master.”

With nothing more needing to be said, the three of them turned and began leaving the solemn peace of Mt. Aocang behind them. Together, they returned to the harbor, each carrying questions unanswered, futures uncertain.

>>><<<

At the Jade Chamber, Ganyu had just finished dressing up. They went from Mt. Aocang to the Jade Chamber in the same manner they arrived—Ganyu in her qilin form, traversing the skies.

Ganyu quickly approached Keqing. “Are you sure you don’t want anyone to accompany you to the Chasm?” A worried tone was evident, as if pleading Keqing to take her along.

Keqing had already begun adjusting her borrowed clothes—smoothing the creases, tightening the knot, readying herself. She shook her head gently. “It’s okay, Ganyu. I’ll leave relaying the updates to Ningguang and the Qixing to you...” A beat passed, and she added, “And I’ll leave Qinyu to you.”

Her voice then softened. “Don’t worry. I won’t be gone for long.”

But even before she finished, Qinyu’s shoulders drooped. The little girl’s eyes welled with tears—not of tantrum, but of something more aching. “Mommy...” she said, her small voice tremulous. Her arms reached up instinctively toward Keqing, asking silently for her mother to take her along.

Keqing’s stern expression faltered. She smiled at the little child’s silliness. She knelt before Qinyu, brushing a hand over the child’s head. “Like I said, I won’t be gone for too long,” she assured, locking eyes with her. “I’ll return shortly, okay? So be a good girl and behave around Mama, alright?”

Qinyu pressed her lips together, nodding slowly despite the single tear that escaped down her cheek. Keqing wiped it gently with the pad of her thumb. “Don’t cry, silly. I’ll be here with you before you know it.”

Sensing Qinyu’s turmoil, Ganyu stepped in. She gently rubbed Qinyu’s shoulders. “Mommy will return shortly, Qinyu. So now, say bye-bye to Mommy.”

Qinyu nodded reluctantly. “Bye-bye, Mommy. Take care. See you later.”

Keqing nodded and smiled. She rose to her feet, gave one last glance at the child, then turned her eyes to Ganyu. “I’ll return immediately.”

Then, leaning ever so slightly closer, her next words were shared just between the two of them—quiet enough that Qinyu wouldn’t hear. “I’ll pick you two up at your office. After we fetch your things… we’ll go to my house.”

Ganyu blinked, startled by the proximity, but she nodded, doing her best to conceal the faint blush that threatened to bloom across her cheeks.

It was, after all, something she had already shared with Keqing earlier—quietly—that the place Qinyu calls and knows as “home” might be at Keqing’s place.

“What about lunch?” Ganyu asked with concern, stepping closer. “It’s almost lunchtime.”

“Just go ahead without me. I’ll manage.” Keqing simply replied.

Behind her, Qinyu pouted. She hugged Ganyu’s leg loosely and murmured, barely audible, “But you promised shrimp…”

Keqing heard it anyway. She glanced back, sighing. “Just eat ahead without me.” She paused, thinking for a moment, then added, “I’ll make it up to you later.” She reached out and playfully rubbed Qinyu’s hair, gently tousling it.

Qinyu didn’t answer, but she leaned slightly into the touch.

Then Keqing looked at Ganyu. “I’ll leave her to you. I’ll come back shortly to help you take care of her. I promise.”

Ganyu nodded briefly. “Just be careful. Like I said over and over… your ankle is still healing.”

Keqing gave a small, quiet smile, then turned with a light wave. “I’ll be fine,” she said, before walking away.

As she slowly made her way toward the exit, both Ganyu and Qinyu watched her go—unconsciously letting out a sigh at the same time.

Realizing it, they turned to look at each other.

“Guess you’ll be stuck with Mama,” Ganyu said, her voice tinged with quiet amusement.

Qinyu giggled in response.

And together, hand in hand, they made their way inside the Jade Chamber.

>>><<<

Ganyu had just finished recounting everything—the disturbance in the ley lines, Qinyu’s arrival, the time travel, and Rex Lapis’ instruction to entrust the matter to him—to Ningguang and the rest of the Qixing. Every detail was conveyed as clearly as she could manage, omitting only one truth: that Rex Lapis and the esteemed funeral consultant, Zhongli, were one and the same.

Even without that revelation, the room had been thick with disbelief.

While a few among the Qixing expressed quiet relief that Rex Lapis had not truly abandoned them, the majority found discomfort in the thought that their former Archon had returned only to instruct them to stand down and do nothing. That went against every instinct the council had operated on. They were used to responding, calculating, and controlling situations.

And yet…

The Tianquan, calm and immovable as always, had brought order back into the room like she always did. With a few steady words, she reminded them all that if Rex Lapis—whose wisdom had guided Liyue for thousands of years—had chosen to intervene personally, it was best to trust that his hand was steering things for a reason.

One by one, the murmurs calmed, the tension in the room receding like tide from the harbor shore. A quiet nod here. A reluctant agreement there.

The meeting was adjourned as swiftly as it had been called. It had to be—after all, news of the Yuheng and the General Secretary having a child together had already swept through Liyue Harbor like wildfire. They needed clarity. And fast.

Now, with everything momentarily quiet, Ganyu finally had a chance to breathe.

They were at Wanmin Restaurant—just her and Qinyu—seated in the corner booth Shenhe had cleared out for them after fending off the curious crowd that had gathered earlier.

It had taken a while to settle in earlier though.

Why? People had stared. Some whispered. Others gasped outright. Questions flew like leaves in the wind, pressing in from every side. All were curious about the child and about the rumor which really turned out to be the truth.

Thankfully, Shenhe had appeared just in time. She had simply stepped forward with that unreadable stare of hers, and the crowd had quickly scattered like startled birds.

Ganyu was also thankful that Qinyu didn’t question the curious crowd around them, instead keeping her eyes fixed on the freshly fried shrimp balls.

And so, for the first time in the day, peace.

So now, Ganyu sat quietly across from Qinyu, watching her with a gaze that was both fond and thoughtful.

Qinyu was munching on a golden shrimp ball, her face aglow with delight. Her posture was so precise, so composed—holding her chopsticks with a poise that mirrored someone else's. The way her eyes lit up every time she took a bite. How she paused to savor the taste, chewing slowly as though the flavor deserved her full attention.

It was unmistakable.

Keqing.

That grace, that mannerism—it was her.

It was like watching Keqing eat.

Ganyu felt something warm tighten in her chest. It was surreal. Almost too surreal. And yet here it was, across the table from her, real as the porcelain plate between them.

“You’re staring too much, Mama.”

The words pulled Ganyu out of her thoughts. She blinked, startled, as Qinyu tilted her head at her with curiosity—and just a hint of bashfulness.

“Do I have dirt on my face?” Qinyu asked, rubbing at her cheek with the back of her hand.

Ganyu’s lips twitched into a soft smile. She shook her head quickly. “It’s nothing,” she said, voice gentle.

She lowered her gaze and took a small bite from her vegetable-filled bun, chewing thoughtfully.

Then—inevitably—her eyes flicked back to Qinyu again.

And in that moment, Ganyu couldn’t help it. Her heart tugged all over again. Keqing’s daughter. Their daughter.

She still didn’t know how, or why, or what it would mean for the future.

A soft whisper tickled Ganyu’s ear. “She really looks like Keqing,” Xiangling murmured, leaning over with a playful grin.

Ganyu could only nod, her gaze still fixed on the little girl quietly munching her shrimp ball across the table. She’d already explained everything—at least, the important parts—to Xiangling and Shenhe earlier. The existence of Qinyu. The mysterious appearance of a child who was somehow the future daughter of herself and Keqing.

Even after the initial shock, both Xiangling and Shenhe couldn’t take their eyes off Qinyu.

Now, Shenhe sat beside the little girl, watching her with the same silent intensity she always did when curious about something new. Then, with a gentleness, she raised a hand and lightly patted the child’s head.

“These little horns,” Shenhe said, her voice softer than usual. “They look… adorable.”

Qinyu flinched slightly. “It tickles, Auntie,” she mumbled, looking away bashfully. Then she held her own horns, as if trying to ease the ticklish sensation.

Shenhe blinked at the response, then tilted her head slightly. “Now she looks like Ganyu.”

Xiangling giggled beside Ganyu. “Little Qinyu really is a mix of the two of you. It’s like watching the both of you in miniature.”

Ganyu’s cheeks warmed.

A quiet, fluttering feeling bloomed in her chest. She wasn’t used to hearing things like that, but as she watched Qinyu shyly lean into Shenhe’s side, her heart felt like it might just melt.

She and Keqing… created this child in the future. So much like both of them. It was a future still far from now, and yet seeing it reflected so vividly before her—it made her breath catch.

She covered her mouth slightly, trying to hide the blush that refused to fade.

Her heart was flustered all over again.

>>><<<

After they finished their lunch, Ganyu found herself quietly glancing at Qinyu once more. Now back at her office in Yuehai Pavilion, the atmosphere had settled into a calm lull. One of her hands held onto Qinyu’s small one, the other carefully gripping a takeout bag from Wanmin Restaurant—shrimp balls wrapped and packed, something she planned to give Keqing later.

The silence was comfortable, filled with nothing but the usual chattering of her colleagues outside the office and the far-off calls of birds outside the open window.

Until a small voice broke it.

“Mama,” Qinyu said, tilting her head, her tone casual yet sincere. “Your office looks like a mess.”

Ganyu groaned lightly, not even bothering to deny it. “I know.”

She glanced around—the documents were everywhere, folders slightly misaligned, her scrolls unrolled and tucked haphazardly back into their shelves. It was true. She hadn’t really stepped foot into her office since Qinyu’s arrival. Between the sudden meetings, the trip to Mt. Aocang, and sorting out the implications of Qinyu’s existence… paperwork was the least of her priorities.

“I’m sorry for the mess, Qinyu,” Ganyu murmured as she released her hold on the child’s hand and bent down slightly to her level. “You can stay at the Jade Chamber. You’ll be much more comfortable there.”

But Qinyu quickly shook her head, expression firm. “I can help you, Mama.”

Before Ganyu could reply, the little girl had already begun moving around the room like she had done it dozens of times before. She walked with surprising confidence—toward the desk, around the cabinets—and started collecting every envelope with a colored mark she could reach. She stacked them neatly on the floor in front of her, humming a little tune as she worked.

Ganyu blinked, stunned by how naturally Qinyu was moving. “What are you doing?”

Qinyu looked at her like she’d asked the most obvious question in the world. “Helping Mama, of course,” she said with a matter-of-fact tone.

Then she turned back to her stack and began sorting through them, pointing out the stamps on each envelope.

“See? Envelopes with blue stamps are from the commerce guilds,” she recited, “green stamps are for anything about the harbor maintenance, red stamps are from Auntie Ning’s office, and yellow ones are from the Ministry of Civil Affairs.”

Ganyu knelt slowly beside her, astonished as she watched Qinyu’s tiny hands organize the envelopes by color and purpose.

“And envelopes with black stamps are from the rest of the Qixing,” Qinyu continued, lifting one to show her. “But the ones with purple stamps—those are from the Yuheng. Mommy!” She smiled brightly at the last word, proud and certain. She glanced up at Ganyu with wide, innocent eyes. “Right?”

Ganyu froze for a beat.

That stamp-color system—the categories—was something Ganyu had devised quietly, for her own personal use. A system to help her manage the overwhelming flood of correspondence she dealt with every day. She never really mentioned them aloud to anyone. She never needed to. After all, it was simply part of her routine, something she did out of habit within the walls of her office. Just her, performing the duties only the General Secretary could carry.

“Yes,” Ganyu whispered, her voice soft. “That’s right.”

Qinyu beamed. “I remember stuff good, huh?”

Ganyu smiled gently, her heart blooming with warmth. “You really do.” She reached out and gently patted Qinyu’s head, her fingers brushing over the child’s hair. Qinyu leaned into the touch with a giggle, eyes bright with joy and trust.

Ganyu had only met Qinyu the day before, yet something about this small child felt achingly familiar—like a part of Ganyu she hadn’t known was missing until now. Like a soft echo in her heart had finally found its answer.

It was strange… and yet not. As if, somehow, she had been waiting for this—for Qinyu—for a long, long time.

And now, here she was, right beside her. Warm, and real. A dream she hadn’t dared to speak aloud, come to life.

Ganyu smiled, the affection in her chest blooming into quiet resolve. "Now," she said softly, her tone light as she motioned toward the piles of papers still scattered across her desk, "shall we get to work then?"

“Mmm!” Qinyu chirped, nodding with energy.

>>><<<

Keqing was on her way to Ganyu’s office. She had finished all her transactions in the Chasm as quickly as she could, but even then, it had taken quite a while. The sun was already beginning to dip low in the sky, casting long shadows across the path as she walked briskly, both hands occupied with paper bags.

When she arrived at the door to Ganyu’s office, she set the bags down beside her and knocked.

“Ganyu?” she called. No answer.

She waited a moment, then called again—still nothing.

With a slight furrow in her brow, she gently pushed the door open and picked up the bags once more.

Inside, the room was quiet.

Her eyes immediately landed on the couch, where two figures were curled together in sleep.

Ganyu and Qinyu, fast asleep, their breathing soft and even. Qinyu was tucked securely into Ganyu’s side, her little hand resting atop her mother’s arm.

Keqing stepped inside quietly and set the paper bags down again, approaching the two of them. There was something ethereal about the sight. And surreal. The child whom she had only just met… already looked so naturally like Ganyu—soft features, peaceful expression—and yet, undeniably hers, too.

She stood beside the couch, bent down a bit, and gently shook Ganyu’s shoulder. “Ganyu. I’m here. Wake up.”

Ganyu stirred, groaning softly before blinking her eyes open. When she saw Keqing, she sat up quickly. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “We fell asleep.”

Keqing gave a faint smile, her voice lowered so as not to wake Qinyu. “Why would you apologize for that? If anything, I should be the one saying sorry—it still took longer than I expected. I hope Qinyu didn’t give you a hard time.”

Ganyu shook her head gently, glancing at the sleeping child beside her as she ran her fingers softly along Qinyu’s cheek. “Not at all. She’s been a very good girl. She even helped me organize my office.”

Keqing raised an eyebrow at that, skeptical.

Right then, Qinyu stirred. She blinked a few times before her eyes landed on Keqing. “Mommy!” she beamed, suddenly fully awake. Without warning, she jumped from the couch and launched herself into Keqing’s legs, hugging her tightly.

“Easy now,” Keqing chuckled, steadying herself.

Ganyu let out a quiet giggle at the sight, a hand to her lips as she watched the two of them together.

Qinyu’s eyes sparkled as they landed on the paper bags tucked in the corner of the room. “What are those, Mommy? Are they for me?” she asked eagerly.

Keqing followed Qinyu’s gaze. “Some are for you, and some are for all of us.”

“Yey!” Qinyu beamed, excitement bubbling over.

But Keqing quickly held up a finger. “But you don’t get to open them unless we’re at my house… I mean, home.”

Qinyu nodded earnestly, then tugged gently at Ganyu’s hand. “Come on, Mama. Let’s go home.”

Ganyu’s cheeks flushed a soft pink. The idea of going “home” with Keqing—together with Qinyu—sent fluttering butterflies swirling in her stomach.

“Let’s go?” Keqing asked softly, glancing at Ganyu.

Ganyu averted her gaze for a moment before nodding.

>>><<<

Their journey to Keqing’s house was far from easy. Eyes followed their every step, whispers floated through the air. People greeted them, some with awe, others with barely concealed curiosity. Gossip bloomed like wildfire at the sight of their Yuheng and General Secretary together with their child.

Luckily, most kept their distance, content to watch and gossip from afar. Perhaps it was Keqing’s stern expression that warded off the overly curious.

And at last, they arrived.

“Finally home!” Qinyu beamed as they stepped foot just outside the gate of Keqing’s house.

“Looks like this is really home,” Keqing said, then looked knowingly at Ganyu, who simply nodded in reply to the knowing glance.

They walked inside Keqing’s house, the door shutting quietly behind them as the last light of the setting sun spilled through the windows. Ganyu and Keqing both set down the paper bags they were holding by the entryway, exhaling softly in unison.

And as expected, Qinyu notices that something is different.

“Did you change the arrangement here, Mommy?” she asked curiously, her eyes darting around the foyer with subtle confusion. “The lantern stand was over there before, and there are missing furnitures…”

Keqing gently shook her head. “Listen, Qinyu. I have something to tell you, and I want you to listen very carefully, okay?”

Qinyu tilted her head, but nodded obediently. “Okay.”

But before Keqing could say more, Ganyu stepped forward quickly. “Wait, Keqing. You can’t possibly tell her,” she said, already knowing what Keqing was intending to reveal.

Keqing frowned. “I believe it will help Qinyu have a better understanding of her situation.”

Brows furrowing deeper, something instinctively protective sparked in Ganyu’s chest. She reached out and gently grasped Keqing’s wrist, pulling her close. In a whisper only they could hear, she said, “I know… But I don’t think it’s the right time for that, Keqing.”

Keqing whispered back, just as quietly, “But Ganyu—”

“Are you two fighting again?” Qinyu interrupted, her small voice laced with growing concern.

“No, we’re not,” Ganyu quickly replied, crouching beside her. Her hands reached for Qinyu’s shoulders, offering comfort. “We were just… debating whether to tell you or not that we’ve rearranged the house…To, you know…make it better? Like a house maintenance thing.” she added, scrambling for a believable excuse and praying Qinyu would accept it. “So there might be things that are usually here but aren’t at the moment.”

Qinyu’s brow furrowed slightly as she took in the explanation. Her voice turned small. “Including my toys…?”

Ganyu mimicked her worried expression, lips turned in a guilty pout. “Sadly, yes. Some might be… missing for a while.”

“I knew this would happen,” Keqing murmured softly to herself, then knelt beside the paper bags and pulled one toward her. Without another word, she reached inside and took out three carefully chosen items, placing them on the low table nearby one by one.

The first was a dress for Qinyu—a soft lilac silk garment embroidered with pale golden cranes along the hem, its sleeves gently flared and edged with cloud patterns. A tiny jade button sat at the collar, shaped like a blooming glaze lily.

The second was a rattle drum, small enough to fit in a child’s hand, made of polished wood and painted in red and gold. Two beads dangled from silk threads on either side, ready to thrum against the tiny drum’s surface when spun.

And the third, perhaps the most thoughtful gift, was a Rex Lapis dragon plushie—crafted with rich brown fabric and golden accents, complete with tiny molded horns. Its embroidered eyes had a calm, serene look to them, and its body was plump and huggable. Qinyu could barely contain a gasp when she saw it.

“Are these for me?!” Qinyu asked excitedly, her eyes wide with wonder.

Keqing nodded and gently handed the items over to her. “All yours.”

Ganyu just blinked, caught off guard. She did the mental calculations quickly—those were no ordinary gifts. For Keqing to procure such quality items in such a short span of time… it must’ve cost her a fortune.

Keqing’s gaze flicked toward Ganyu, sensing the silent calculation behind her eyes. It was written all over her expression. “I didn’t spend that much, Ganyu,” she said, playfully rolling her eyes a little.

Ganyu blinked, caught, and straightened ever so slightly. “I-I didn’t say anything,” she replied, though a faint blush crept onto her cheeks.

Of course, Keqing remembered—those few times they’d gone shopping together before, Ganyu would always comment on how Keqing tended to overspend, even if it was on something practical. This moment… it felt like a fragment of that past.

Then, Ganyu felt like they’re really a couple. And oh, how she wished that were true.

Qinyu hugged the Rex Lapis plushie to her chest with delight, then picked up the little rattle drum and gave it a test shake. Finally, she held up the dress and beamed. “Can I try it on now?”

“Alright—” Keqing began, but before she could finish, Qinyu was already sprinting off down the hallway, the plushie tucked under one arm and the dress draped over the other. Judging by the direction she took, it was clear she was heading straight for Keqing’s bedroom.

Keqing sighed softly, watching her go. “Of course,” she muttered with the faintest edge of amusement.

Then it was quiet.

Just the two of them.

They stood there for a moment, still in the living room, surrounded by the faint warmth left behind by Qinyu’s energy. They glanced at each other—then, instinctively, both looked away.

“So,” Ganyu began, her voice just above a whisper. “How’s the Chasm?”

Keqing answered quickly, maybe too quickly. “The same as we left it. Eerily stable, actually.” She crossed her arms. “Still, I stationed a few more Millelith down there. Just in case.”

Ganyu nodded. “I told you the Millelith could handle it.”

“I know, but I needed to or else I won’t stop overthinking,” Keqing admitted. “Though… going down there helped me clear my head. A little.”

That caught Ganyu’s attention. Her eyes drifted to Keqing, watching the way her brows pinched slightly in thought, how her fingers tightened over her arms. She looked contemplative. Thinking something deep with that smart head of hers.

Like what? Ganyu asked in her mind. She can only wish that Keqing would open up to her more. Then against her better judgement, her mouth spoke out of turn, “Are you that uncomfortable with me?”

Keqing blinked. “What?”

“I mean…” Ganyu met her gaze this time, her voice firmer. “Are you that uncomfortable—with the idea of us? Together. In the future.” She swallowed and looked away again. Her voice softened. “Having a family together… are you uncomfortable with that?”

Keqing’s expression shifted instantly into alarm. “What? Where did you even get that idea?”

Ganyu looked at her again, eyes searching. “So? What?”

Keqing blinked, caught off guard. “What what?”

Ganyu inhaled, desperate now, her voice rising just slightly in exasperation. “Answer my question, Keqing.”

Keqing opened her mouth, then closed it again, clearly flustered. “I... I…” She sighed, running a hand through her hair, visibly trying to compose herself. “It’s nothing like that, Ganyu. I’m not uncomfortable. I’m just… trying to wrap my head around the whole thing. I mean…”

She paused, hesitating—then met Ganyu’s eyes. “Do you even like me? Romantically?”

Now it was Ganyu’s turn to stammer. “I... I…”

In her mind, she cursed herself. How did we even get here? This was not how this conversation was supposed to go.

But the silence stretched.

And Keqing, catching on, leaned forward slightly, her tone firmer. “So?”

Ganyu quickly cleared her throat, scrambling. “What ‘so’?”

Keqing narrowed her eyes, unrelenting. “Do you like me, Ganyu?”

Ganyu’s breath caught. She looked away for a moment, heat rising to her cheeks. Her mind spiraled in all directions. Then, in quiet retaliation, she murmured— “I could’ve asked you the same thing.”

But Keqing didn’t back down. She crossed her arms. “I asked you first.”

Then, Ganyu’s voice came out barely above a whisper. “So what if I do?”

Keqing blinked. “What?”

But before Ganyu could repeat herself—or retreat—Qinyu burst back into the room, beaming.

“Look at me, Mama! Mommy!” she called out, twirling proudly in her new silk dress. “Look!”

The timing couldn’t have been more perfect.

“You’ll get dizzy, Qinyu,” Ganyu said quickly, seizing the moment like a lifeline. She stepped forward and scooped the little girl into her arms. “Come on, let’s take a shower. Shall we?”

“Mmm!” Qinyu chirped in agreement, snuggling against her.

Ganyu turned to Keqing briefly, her eyes still flustered, her blush betraying her escape.

Keqing simply nodded, understanding without being told. “Extra towels it is. Got it,” she said.

Just as Keqing turned to leave, Qinyu’s voice piped up again, innocent and cheerful: “What about Mommy? Let’s get into the shower all together!”

Both Ganyu and Keqing froze.

“No,” they said at the exact same time, a little too loudly.

Qinyu blinked, startled by their synchronized response. “O-okay…” she murmured, slightly confused.

Keqing cleared her throat. “I’ll get the towels,” she said again, more quietly this time. Then she pointed toward the hallway. “The bathroom’s at the end of the left corridor—second door.”

Ganyu gave a small nod of thanks, hugging Qinyu a little closer. “Let’s go ahead, Qinyu.”

As they started toward the hall, the little girl tilted her head, curiosity blooming on her face. “Mama, why are you two being weird? And why is Mommy telling us where the bathroom is? Don’t we live here?”

Ganyu sighed softly, suppressing a flustered smile. “Shhh. Don’t ask too many questions,” she said, walking away with the child. “Let’s just go.”

>>><<<

Qinyu merely observed as Ganyu gently dried her damp hair with a soft towel, small shoulders wrapped in another. The room was quiet save for the soft rustle of fabric and the rhythmic sound of the towel against hair. Across the room, Keqing had quietly slipped into the bathroom without saying a word.

“Mama,” Qinyu began, eyes following the door her Mommy disappeared through, “did you and Mommy—”

“No,” Ganyu cut in swiftly, voice calm but firm. “We did not fight, Qinyu.”

Qinyu turned her head, peering up at her mother with those curious, rounded eyes. “Then why are you two being weird?”

“We’re not,” Ganyu replied, perhaps a little too quickly, but her tone remained gentle. She didn’t want to encourage any more questions—but she didn’t want to shut them down unkindly either.

“Hmm.” Qinyu hummed again, clearly not convinced, but letting it go—for now.

As Ganyu began brushing out the tangles in her daughter’s silken hair, a flicker of hesitation crossed her face. But curiosity—hope, even—got the better of her. “So, Qinyu…”

“Mmm?” Qinyu chirped, eyes focused on the mirror in front of them.

Ganyu inhaled, bracing herself. “Does Mommy… love Mama?”

Qinyu blinked, furrowing her tiny brows. “What?”

“Just answer the question,” Ganyu said quickly, softly, as though it were nothing more than idle conversation.

Qinyu tapped a finger to her chin, thinking hard. Then she answered with absolute certainty. “Well, of course.”

Ganyu’s breath caught slightly. “How… how does Mommy show that she loves… me?”

Qinyu tilted her head, as though surprised by the simplicity of the question. “Well,” she began, counting on her fingers, “Mommy always brings you flowers, takes care of you when you’re tired, buys you your favorite food, and—of course—always kisses you when she gets the chance.”

Ganyu froze mid-stroke. Her face ignited in a heavy, searing flush.

Qinyu turned in her lap, frowning slightly. “Why, Mama? Do you feel like Mommy doesn’t love you anymore?”

Ganyu cleared her throat, searching for words. How could she explain to a child that she was merely prospecting for a future that has yet to unfold to Ganyu. “Not like that,” she managed to say, voice low.

But Qinyu wasn’t done. She stared at Ganyu more closely now, lips pursed. “Come to think of it,” she said with a hint of mischief, “I never saw Mommy kiss you today. Or yesterday.” Then she playfully gasped, bringing her hands to her mouth in mock horror. “Are you feeling lonely because Mommy didn’t kiss you today and yesterday?!”

Ganyu groaned into her palm, face crimson. “Qinyu…”

But the little girl only giggled, clearly pleased with her own conclusion. Then, in a softer voice, she added with the conviction only a child could muster, “Don’t worry, Mama. Even though Mommy doesn’t say it that often, she loves you.”

Ganyu’s flush deepened, burning from her cheeks down to her chest. Her lips parted, but no words came—just stunned silence.

Before she could find a response, a voice butted in from behind. “What are you two talking so seriously about in here?”

Keqing had just stepped out of the bathroom, now dressed in a casual blouse and trousers, towel still draped around her neck. Her damp hair clung loosely to her shoulders. She looked far more relaxed than she had earlier.

Qinyu giggled again and chirped, “Secret! It’s Mama and Qinyu’s secret, Mommy.”

Ganyu looked away quickly, trying not to appear suspicious as Keqing raised a brow at her awkward expression.

“I see,” Keqing replied, amused but not pressing. She walked a little closer, then added, “Well, if you’re both done, let’s have dinner. I ordered food for us.”

At the mention of food, Qinyu shot to her feet like an arrow. “Yey!” she cheered, bolting out of the room toward the dining area with excitement.

“Be careful!” Ganyu called after her, halfway rising from her seat.

Then silence returned, and the room felt smaller again. Just the two of them.

Keqing lingered for a moment before breaking it. “You’re playing the role of Qinyu’s mother very well,” she said, voice even, smile faint.

It was a simple remark—meant kindly, even—but Ganyu’s expression hardened instantly. She rose to her feet, a small crease between her brows.

“It’s not some role, Keqing. I am Qinyu’s mother,” she said, voice cool, edged, and walked past Keqing without another word.

“Wait,” Keqing reached out, gently catching Ganyu’s wrist.

Ganyu stopped, but her gaze dropped to the floor, lips pressed into a thin line, her posture stiff.

“I didn’t mean it like that, Ganyu,” Keqing said with a sigh, her voice more earnest now. “Why must you always misunderstand me?”

Slowly, Ganyu turned to look at her, and the frustration in her expression was unmistakable. “It’s because of the way you say things… the way you act around me and Qinyu.” She paused, exhaling shakily. “Like all of this doesn’t mean anything to you at all. Like Qinyu is just another task to you. A duty.” Her words hung in the air.

Keqing’s grip loosened slightly—not to let go, but to soften. Her fingers no longer held to keep Ganyu from leaving, but simply to stay connected, however fragile that tether felt. “That’s not fair,” she said quietly, her voice low but clear. “You think I see Qinyu as a task? Like living with the both of you made me uncomfortable?”

Ganyu didn’t respond, but the look in her eyes—half hurt, half uncertain—was answer enough.

Keqing exhaled through her nose, a sound halfway between frustration and disbelief. She dropped her gaze to the floor, shaking her head slowly. “I’m just overwhelmed, Ganyu. Not being indifferent. There’s a difference.” She looked up again, this time meeting Ganyu’s eyes fully. “One day I was living my usual life, and the next… I’m being told I have a daughter I’ve never met. With you.”

She stared slightly past Ganyu, eyes unreadable, her mind clearly working. “I never said I was comfortable,” she repeated softly, more to herself than to Ganyu. “Because I’m not. I’m just… I’ve spent my whole life… pushing forward. Always chasing after the next task. Always focused on what needs fixing. I’ve never thought about settling down—not because I’m against it, but because I’ve never allowed myself the time to even consider it.”

She exhaled sharply, arms crossing as if to brace herself. “My mind has always been on Liyue. On what more I could do. There’s still so much left undone. And now suddenly—suddenly I’m faced with the idea that somewhere in the future, I let that focus go long enough to build a life with you… and have a child.”

“I don’t know how to act,” Keqing admitted. “I don’t know what to say or what I’m supposed to do. I don’t even know what kind of me raised that child. But she looks at me like I’m her whole world. And then you look at me like I should know what I’m doing.” Her voice faltered slightly, but she pushed through. “It threw me off. Everything about it. I didn’t know how to process it. And maybe I still don’t. But I never said I was uncomfortable,” she said, finally meeting Ganyu’s gaze. “I never claimed that I understood everything happening between us. But… I thought if anyone could give me the benefit of the doubt, it would be you.” Her words held no malice—only quiet disappointment.

Ganyu’s breath hitched. She swallowed the lump rising in her throat. “That’s not…” she began, but faltered, searching for words.

Keqing turned her face away again. “It’s alright. I’m used to people misunderstanding me.”

That hit Ganyu harder than she expected. There was a raw truth in Keqing’s voice that cut deeper than frustration ever could.

Then Keqing sighed. “Let’s just eat for now. We can talk again when we’ve both cooled off.”

But Ganyu shook her head. “No.”

Keqing blinked, caught off guard by the firmness in her voice.

“I have to say this now,” Ganyu continued, voice steady despite the storm in her chest. “You’re right. Of all people, I should be the one to understand you. I’ve been by your side for years, after all. And knowing you… I’m sorry, Keqing. I really am. I shouldn’t have judged you so easily. I just…”

She paused, taking a breath. Then another. “I just got frustrated. Seeing you look so unaffected—like we were just on your to-do list—while I was here feeling everything. All of it. At once.”

Her hands curled at her sides. “I thought maybe for you, the idea of a future with us was… burdensome to you.”

Her voice wavered, but she kept going. “I know that was unfair of me. I projected my own hopes and fears onto you and took your silence as rejection. I’m sorry, Keqing. I misunderstood you.”

Keqing’s eyes softened—just a fraction. She didn’t speak yet, but her posture slowly unwound, her arms uncrossing at her sides. “And I’m sorry for making you and Qinyu feel like you’re a bother. It’s nothing like that.”

They stood in silence for a long heartbeat, just the quiet hush of the house around them.

Then, after a pause, Keqing gestured softly toward the dining room. “We can talk more… later. For now, let’s just eat. I’m kind of hungry after all that talking.”

Ganyu gave a slow nod, stifling a small giggle as she brushed at her eye almost without thinking.
“Alright. I bought some golden shrimp balls for you anyway.”

That earned a small smile from Keqing.

Then a voice rang out from the other room. “Mama! Mommy! The food’s gonna get cold!”

Both women blinked, startled from the moment.

Ganyu smiled faintly. Keqing dropped her hand.

Their eyes met one last time—and with a simple, wordless nod, it was as if something heavy had quietly lifted from both their hearts.