"Fine. Just—help me get this letter to the Hydro Lord."
Ye Luo rubbed his forehead in exasperation and handed the envelope over.
When he'd popped back to collect the letter earlier, both Layla and Faruzan had been giving him odd looks. He'd chalked it up to them being a little jumpy. No big deal. He grabbed his things and hurried straight to the market.
Wang A-Qi was Fufina's intelligence contact stationed in Sumeru. The Hydro Lord hadn't been idle these centuries: she might not run an organization on the scale of the Harbingers, but her network was more than capable — not something an ordinary faction could rival.
"No problem, Lord Luo." Wang A-Qi straightened up. Even if this was his first time handling a courier like this, he'd heard of the secretary's monthly reports and the sort of tasks a secretary might be trusted with. He didn't know the details, but he respected that the job was important.
Rumor had it that Fontaine had held a little celebration after the secretary left — a petty banquet put on the palace staff to mark his absence. Good thing the secretary didn't know; otherwise he might have been delighted and perhaps alarmingly pleased.
Wang A-Qi tucked the letter away carefully.
"One more thing — when you deliver it, please say this for me." Ye Luo hesitated, then, cheeks going faintly pink, blurted it out.
"What?" Wang A-Qi frowned. A cryptic message appended to official correspondence? Was there secret intelligence buried in coy declarations now?
"Tell her… tell her Mr. Ye Luo loves her." Ye Luo mumbled, all awkwardness and embarrassment.
Wang A-Qi froze, an involuntary shiver running through him. The idea of anyone declaring love to a god? That was outside the usual bounds of respect. In Teyvat people didn't treat archons like mere celebrities; reverence was real. You didn't flirt with divinity and get away with it — at least, sane people didn't.
Unless — could this be some kind of coded phrase? Some innocuous line that actually functioned as a courier's passphrase? The more Wang A-Qi thought about it, the more plausible that sounded. Perhaps the secretary's odd, romantic words were actually a trigger for some confidential notice. The notion made his heart beat faster.
"Spy-King Wang cannot disgrace his title. Consider it an order!" Ye Luo grinned, hands planted on the younger man's shoulders, suddenly all solemn and conspiratorial.
"Understood, Lord Luo!" Wang A-Qi puffed up with determination. When the secretary put his trust in him, how could he not rise to the occasion? He was Spy-King, after all.
They watched the crowd shuffle by in comfortable silence for a while. Ye Luo had to make sure the money he'd accepted from Lumine — the donation for the cat café — got into the right hands. Lumine had been generous; he wouldn't let her regret it.
"So… how old are you, anyway? Out here doing spy things so early — does your family even know?" Ye Luo asked casually.
"Eight," Wang A-Qi answered obediently.
"Eight?!" Ye Luo nearly choked on his words, eyes bulging. "What sort of academy kiddie did Fontaine spit out?"
"Big Sis taught me: when out in the world, trust no one," Wang A-Qi replied indignantly. You don't just ask a man his age — it's private! As Spy-King he deserved his little mysteries.
Ye Luo gave up. "Fine." He left, muttering about how even spies were getting weirder by the day. Spy-King indeed — these were interesting times.
At the Palais de Mistral, Fufina lounged with a bored tilt to her legs, sighing as the silence wrapped around the manor. Even her ahoge drooped. It was a strange calm — the lull before the storm of judgments she had to face. When would that next trial come? She was tired of acting. Five hundred years of performance were wearing thin.
"Am I the Hydro Lord, Fucarros? Or just Fufina the mortal? I can't tell any more." She muttered to herself — a private bit of theatre she couldn't voice aloud. Everything had to stay composed. If she let the façade slip, five centuries of careful posture might turn to smoke.
Lately she'd taken an odd interest in a serialized story that had been running in the steam-bird gazette — a peculiar detective tale Ye Luo had been posting. The plot wasn't Fontaine's usual fare; it drew her in, made her feel oddly seen. She'd been reading the lines aloud sometimes, mimicking the dramatic turns. A deity indulging in a little private dramatics — harmless, so long as no one noticed.
A knock interrupted her reverie.
"Your letter has arrived, Lady Fufina."
The maid at the door bowed, holding a heavy envelope.
Fufina smoothed her dress and reached for it — then froze at the maid's expression. Hesitation mixed with something decisive. Curiosity flared.
"Also…" the maid faltered.
"Say it." Fufina's posture sharpened like an actress finding her cue.
The maid swallowed and then, with a small, embarrassed air, said, "Secretary Ye Luo asked me to tell you something in person."
"Go on." Fufina's delicate expression had that faint imperiousness only an archon could wear.
"He insisted I say— 'Mr. Ye Luo loves you very much.'"
Silence. Fufina's hair ahoge perked minutely. She considered the phrase as if trying it on for fit.
"...Right." She said finally, with a composed little nod that betrayed nothing and everything at once.
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