You lean against the terrace railing, the old wood creaking softly under your weight.
Crack.
You bite into the apple. Its crunch is crisp, breaking through the harbor noise below. Sweet and sour flavors explode on your tongue, a normal sensation that's calming amid the day's madness.
You swallow the apple piece slowly, letting it slide into your churning stomach.
Your gaze is blank, directed at the bustle below, at thousands of heads moving like worker ants who know exactly where they're going.
Unlike you.
Since you'll be staying here for a long time, at least until this crazy mission is done or you die foolishly, you decide to rent a lodging.
You're lucky.
It turns out the lodging price in this outskirts area isn't too expensive. The room is small, smelling of old sandalwood, but clean.
Your hand fumbles in your pocket, pulling out the cloth pouch from the bespectacled man. You weigh it in your palm. Heavy. The clinking sound of metal inside is the only music comforting you right now.
You still have plenty of Mora. Financially, you're safe.
However, financial security doesn't buy social comfort.
You glance at the Mora pouch, then back at the streets. Memories of this afternoon haunt you like a hungry ghost.
Because of your earlier actions, walking like a broken robot, mimicking an old person's movements, and wearing strange clothes, you're considered weird.
No, more than that. Being considered weird is still far better. Now you're seen as an anomaly!
For some reason, you feel this sharply a while ago, when you started wandering to find a place to stay and buy this apple.
Their stares are no longer just curious, but there's distance. There's a thick glass wall separating you from them.
Realizing this makes you very uncomfortable!
It feels like thousands of fire ants crawling behind your neck skin. You feel naked even though fully clothed.
You finally draw a long breath, filling your lungs with the scent of sea and spices starting to sting in the afternoon air.
You decide to make peace. You decide to adjust slowly, accepting that their judgments are just the beginning of your adaptation process. Like a sharp river stone, you need time and water flow to become smooth.
As you lean deeper, letting your back relax, you remember a specific incident that makes your face hot.
The memory flash comes uninvited: You walk among market stalls, in your hand a mental note about the world named Teyvat. You approach a fish merchant, trying to ask about "government structure" or "who's the most influential woman here."
The locals stare at you long. Silent. Their eyes narrow, assessing your sanity.
Perhaps, your question sounds too specific, like a bad spy, or too foreign, like someone with amnesia. "Don't you know who the Qixing are? Have you just come out of Jueyun Karst after meditating for a hundred years?" they ask cynically.
You finally decide to retreat, adjusting your questioning style. You learn to be silent and observe how they communicate—small talk first, bargain prices, then slip in questions—before continuing.
But you're already too embarrassed to continue. So you decide to just leave, still haunted by the question.
Remembering this inevitably makes you embarrassed. Your face feels warm even though the evening wind blows cold.
You immediately shake your head strongly, your hair swaying, to dispel that thought from your mind.
I mean… I'm really a newcomer to this world… how am I supposed to find information besides asking??? you mutter to the apple remnant in your hand, defending yourself before an imaginary jury.
But self-defense doesn't change the fact that you stand out.
You sigh again, expelling that frustrated breath into the air. You stand, take another apple from the rattan basket on the terrace table, your dinner supply, and walk to the lodging exit.
It's time to change. If you can't change your face, at least you can change your outer skin.
You descend to the streets again. The sun has almost fully set, leaving an orange line on the horizon. Lanterns start to be lit, turning Liyue into a sea of artificial stars.
Still being stared at by people. You can feel it. Glances from the corner of eyes. Whispers behind hand fans.
You lower your head, pull your oversized jacket collar higher, and walk quickly. Your steps hurried, like a fugitive avoiding prison spotlights.
Your goal is one: Clothing Store.
In front of a wooden building displaying beautiful silk fabrics in its showcase, you stop. You look up for a long time, staring at the store sign written in elegant calligraphy you can't read, but you know what it says.
You finish the apple in your hand in a few big bites, then throw the core remnant into a nearby wooden trash bin with an accurate three-point motion.
You draw a breath, then push the entrance door.
A small bell rings.
Tring.
The scent of new fabric and indigo dye immediately greets you.
You enter a clothing store in Liyue, hoping to find something that can make you look more in tune with the locals.
Inside, some customers are choosing fabrics. There are women measuring silk, and some men selecting robes.
When you enter, the atmosphere suddenly becomes silent for a moment.
The other buyers stare at your foreign clothes. Your futuristic white jacket seems to shout amid the harmony of earth tones and traditional reds in the room.
Their stares make you realize how standout your appearance is.
Right, like an ink stain on a perfect watercolor painting.
You try to ignore them, wandering among the clothing racks. Your hand touches the fabrics. Smooth, rough, cold, warm. You search for colors and cuts that don't make you seem like a newcomer.
However, at this moment, you try to pick a standout outfit. A Hanfu robe with intricate golden dragon embroidery, in bold blood-red.
That's the kind of clothing perhaps worn by legendary swordsmen in martial arts films.
You try it on in front of the large mirror in the middle of the room, just holding it against your body.
Instantly, the atmosphere changes. Locals passing behind you, even the store attendant, give sharp glances. Those glances seem to ask: "Who is this clown daring to wear a landlord's or great swordsman's clothes?"
You can hear their thoughts: That's not for you, kid. It's too heavy for your small shoulders!
Annoyed by being stared at like that... You turn around, staring at one of the gaping visitors, and try to act calm even though your voice trembles slightly.
"Do I really look that weird?" you ask directly.
The person is surprised to be addressed. Their face reddens, they mutter something about "manners," then nudge their friend.
After that, the locals staring at you immediately whisper in panic and move away to another corner of the store.
You snort roughly, putting back the flashy red robe. Okay, lesson received. Don't be a late hero.
You decide to switch to something more matching. You have to lower your ego. You're not a prince, not a swordsman.
You, right now, are just dust. And dust must color like the earth.
You want to divert attention from your weirdness to adaptation efforts. You want to become invisible.
You then choose a simpler outfit. Your eyes scan the daily clothing rack, clothes for young scholars or off-duty merchants. You try to mimic the locals' style so your presence no longer draws attention.
Your hand stops on an outfit. Its color calm. Material looks comfortable. No dragons, no gold. Just honest thread and fabric.
You take it to the changing room.
A few minutes later, you come out.
You stand in front of the long mirror again. The reflection there is clearly no longer like your previous self.
"This isn't entirely similar, but I think it suits me," you whisper. You nod satisfied, giving approval to your own reflection.
You look in the mirror and it shows someone new.
You're wearing a blend of warm-toned attire that evokes a relaxed yet neat impression.
Inside, you wear a gray collared shirt with front pockets—simple and functional—tucked neatly into loose-cut brown pants.
The pants fall beautifully, not tight like your modern ones, giving room for your legs to breathe. Equipped with a simple black belt that firmly separates your torso and legs.
However, the pièce de résistance is the outer layer. Your appearance is overlaid with an ethnic-patterned cardigan in dark brown, moss green, and dull orange. The cardigan is long and flowing, giving a soft and textured touch, as if wrapping the whole style in unpretentious warmth.
You look like a traveler, a writer, or perhaps a young geologist on vacation. You look... grounded.
While you're busy admiring your transformation, a voice breaks your concentration.
In the inner corner of the clothing store, someone stands.
A woman stares at you.
She stands behind the cashier table, or perhaps just came out from the storage room. Her posture graceful, yet there's firmness in how she folds her arms across her chest.
She has glasses that somehow shine under the store lantern light. The light reflects on her lenses, hiding her eyes momentarily, creating a mysterious aura—like an anime character who knows everything before you open your mouth.
Or is that just your paranoid feeling?
The woman steps forward, her footsteps almost inaudible on the wooden floor.
She observes you from head to toe, like an artist appraising a half-finished painting.
She nods several times, her movements slow and thoughtful.
"You have good taste in clothes," she says. Her voice smooth. "Far better than... the white cocoon you wore when you entered."
She seems to have seen you from the start.
You're confused how to respond to this because it's too sudden.
However, feeling this is a fitting situation to practice your social skills, you decide to role-play.
You puff out your chest a little, trying to look confident in your new skin.
"Of course, my reference is the locals!" you reply, trying to sound smart.
The woman raises one eyebrow behind those shining glasses. The corner of her lips lifts slightly, forming a hard-to-interpret smile.
Is she amused?
Or is she laughing at your naivety?
No clue.
"Good reference," she replies briefly. "Those colors... blend with Liyue's earth. You no longer look like someone who'll be blown away by the wind."
Then you continue, not wanting this conversation to become awkward again, "I want to buy this. Please wrap my old clothes, I'll take them home."
"Alright!"
The woman moves deftly.
She serves you, calculates the price with an abacus, and accepts your Mora coins.
During the transaction, you feel as if you're not just buying fabric. You seem to be buying an entry ticket.
When you step out of the store, Liyue's night wind greets you. Your new cardigan flutters softly, warmly hugging your body. People still pass by, but this time... their heads don't snap to look at you.
They only glance briefly, then return to their business.
You feel you've become part of the background.
In reality, whether you're part of the background or not, humans don't really care about what others do.
…
Your gaze falls downward, toward your own feet.
There, athletic sneakers with thick rubber soles and modern aerodynamic design still encase your feet.
"Too bad she doesn't sell shoes." you sigh, your breath vapor thin in the night air. You bow down staring at your shoes, the item out of sync with your clothes.
"What can I do. Besides…."
Your hand fumbles in your pocket, pulling out the cloth pouch now feeling much lighter.
You check the contents of your Mora pouch. Its clinking sound no longer as merry as when you got off the carriage.
The price of clothes, lodging rent, and food in this harbor city apparently gnaw at your temporary wealth faster than termites eating rotten wood.
Once again you exhale, this time heavier, laden with economic anxiety.
Right now your Mora is low.
And in this trading city, without Mora, you're just a ghost not considered to exist.
While walking wearily toward your rented lodging, your mind drifts back, pulled by the current of memory to an incident a few minutes ago in the clothing store.
A moment that makes your ears ring with embarrassment.
The image appears clearly: Behind the cashier table smelling of agarwood, the bespectacled woman is wrapping your old clothes.
You, with a beginner's naivety, try to slip in a light question about Ganyu while paying for the clothes.
"By the way, Miss... do you know where Secretary Ganyu usually spends her time? Maybe... drinking tea?"
The question slips out just like that.
And instantly, the atmosphere in the store freezes.
The merchant immediately looks at you full of wariness. Her sharp eyes behind the gleaming lenses narrow.
She no longer sees a friendly customer; she sees potential trouble.
In her eyes, your question sounds like an attempt to find a loophole, or worse, stalking an important person like the Qixing secretary!
"Why is a newcomer asking about the whereabouts of the Qixing Princess?" her voice cold, as sharp as a silk knife.
Indeed, at that time you panic.
You raise both hands slowly, explaining stammeringly that you're just a newcomer wanting to "understand your new environment" and "get to know great figures."
However, that stare doesn't soften. Remembering her distrustful gaze makes you inevitably mutter on this empty street.
"But it seems she doesn't believe..."
You sigh once more. Their suspicion like poison spreading slowly. You start questioning yourself.
"If I think about it, why did I suddenly shout Yuehai Pavilion this afternoon?"
Your steps slow. That question is a thorn in the flesh. After all, this is my first time in this world…. At least, that's what you believe. But that name, Yuehai Pavilion, slipped from your tongue.
"Does this relate to my lost memories?"
You stop under a lantern pole. The yellow light illuminates your confused face.
"Have I lived in this place before, but I just forgot?"
That thought is scary. If you've been here, why did you forget?
And if you've been here, why doesn't anyone recognize you?
Or... do they recognize you, and that's why they stare at you strangely?
"This is getting unclear…." You exhale once more, dispelling that endless speculation.
You arrive at the lodging, a simple wooden building squeezed between tea houses.
You enter, climb the creaking stairs, and place your wrapped old clothes on the bed.
However, curiosity—or perhaps a hidden destiny push—doesn't let you rest.
That name still buzzes in your head.
Yuehai Pavilion.
You can't sleep before seeing it. You have to prove something to yourself.
Then, you leave the lodging again, traversing Liyue's night that's starting to come alive.
This time you intend to go to the place called Yuehai Pavilion. Not via map, but via instinct that strangely guides your feet.
Liyue's streets climb uphill.
The higher you climb, the grander the buildings, and the quieter the atmosphere.
The market bustle of fish and merchants' shouts left far below, replaced by wind whispering among decorative bamboo trees and the tinkling of artificial fountains.
Arriving there, in the wide courtyard before the main stairs, you're exhausted. Your breath races. Your lungs feel burned by the cold night air. You bend over, holding your knees, and rest briefly.
Then, you look up. You stare there.
Yuehai Pavilion stands majestic up there, bathed in moonlight and elegant hanging lanterns. Its bluish-green roof looks like frozen waves.
It's the nerve center of all Liyue, where contracts are made and fates decided.
The place where she is.
However, that beauty is tightly guarded.
The place is guarded by Millelith. Rows of soldiers with shining spears and sturdy armor stand motionless like stone statues.
They are Liyue's guards, the absolute symbol of order.
You, with foolishness driven by curiosity, try to approach. You sneak toward Yuehai Pavilion, hiding behind pillar shadows and large flower pots, imagining what you could find behind its grand doors.
Maybe a glimpse of her face?
Or at least her work schedule?
"STOP!"
The shout breaks the silence.
Millelith suddenly appear from both sides, their spears crossing in front of your chest, holding you with military efficiency.
"Identity! What's your purpose approaching the Pavilion at this hour?" one of them asks, his voice heavy and emotionless.
Your heart skips.
You try to calm them, raising hands with a stiff smile.
"I... I just want to see the view from up here, Sir. Sorry, I just arrived today," you say, your voice sounding small.
They observe you still suspiciously. Their eyes scan your clothes—the decent ethnic cardigan, but those weird sneakers become their focus again.
They exchange glances, then lower their spears slowly. Not because they believe, but because you seem too pathetic to be a real threat.
"You may go," he says firmly, his index finger pointing to the downhill road. "But you still can't enter! This area is closed to the public without official permission from the Qixing."
You nod awkwardly, backing away slowly like a crab. "Thank you... sorry for disturbing."
You turn and walk quickly down the stairs. Embarrassment burns your nape.
Rejected.
Driven away.
Considered a trivial threat.
How funny….
Once far enough, suddenly you shout at the night wind. "Besides, why do I have to pursue a relationship with the Qixing Secretary?!"
"This is so difficult! Already hard to meet. Tightly guarded. And I have to pursue a relationship with someone I don't know… damn!"
You kick whatever around you—a pebble, empty wind, even almost kicking a lamp post, frustrated.
People happening to pass in the area—servants going home, night walkers—see you. They stare with the same look: New crazy person in town.
Realizing you're a spectacle again, you immediately lower your head and quicken your steps. You run from those stares. Run from your failure. Go to the lodging, the only place you can hide.
Upon arriving in the room, you slam the door and lock it.
You lean against the wooden door, your breath ragged, before your body slides down. You fall sitting against the cold floor, hugging your own knees.
The room is dark, only illuminated by moonlight entering through the window crack.
"Besides, do I even deserve to approach someone in her position?" you whisper to the darkness.
"I have nothing. My money's running low. I have no connections. I don't even have a job… this situation isn't fit for pursuing a relationship."
In your world, and in this world, status is everything. How can an unemployed person with weird shoes stand beside a woman who runs a nation?
That's not romance.
That's a joke.
"How can I pursue a relationship when I don't have a job?"
That question hangs, unanswered.
Then, your eyes stare sharply at the empty air in front of you. You summon it.
You stare sharply at the system. The blue screen appears, blinking calmly, indifferent to your suffering.
"Change the target!" you hiss. "Give me an ordinary village girl! Or a fish merchant! Anyone as long as not her! This is impossible!"
You wait. Hoping for mercy from this god algorithm.
The answer appears in a blink.
[REQUEST DENIED]
[TARGET: GANYU]
[STATUS: CANNOT BE CHANGED]
"Damn… this system is toying with me."
You punch the wooden floor with your fist. It hurts, but the physical pain helps you stay sane.
You bow your head, your shoulders shaking slightly, realizing you have no choice but to accept the order.
No way back.
No detour.
Only a straight path through a steel wall.
You weigh the quest contents again while slowly standing. Your legs wobble, but you force them steady.
Clearly this quest intends to toy with me.
Right, everything feels too personal, too specific, like being forced to approach someone you don't even know with obstacles set to 'Hell' level.
But what can you do.
What can you do.
In the bottom line of the quest, you read it again.
"This is for survival."
You choose to discard all notions of romance. You kill ideas about flowers, poetry, and sweet dates.
You change it into a task, a task you must complete to keep breathing.
Ganyu is no longer "dream woman," she's "mission objective."
Gaining her heart is no longer about feelings, but about survival strategy.
You walk to the window, staring at Yuehai Pavilion shining far up there.
Her heart might be an impenetrable fortress, but every fortress has a crack.
And if you have to crawl, lie, or work to death to find that crack, you'll do it.
You try to calm yourself, regulating your racing breath into a cold and steady rhythm. And say again to yourself.
"This is for survival…."
"This is for survival…."
"This is for survival."
…
A/N: Well, today I managed to upload another chapter. I want to upload again while in a good mood but I need to handle IRL first. I'm not forcing myself to death. I hope someone comments on this story. Life is too lonely, I don't want that to happen on this journey too T-T