You drag your feet toward the main gate of Liyue Harbor, each step heavy and labored, as if gravity around you has doubled. Your face is a wreck: hair matted with cold sweat and sand dust, eyes sunken and vacant, staring ahead without truly seeing anything. Your clothes are rumpled, stained with dirt and splatters you hope are just mud, though your nose catches the faint yet persistent metallic tang of iron.
The city lights that usually welcome you with warmth now feel blinding and judgmental. Every lantern seems like an eye piercing straight into your newly cracked soul.
Suddenly, your steps halt. Your body refuses to move further into the light.
"No!" you shout. Your voice hoarse, breaking, shattering the night silence and the casual murmurs near the city gate.
The Millelith gate guards, who had been standing relaxed—leaning on their spears while chatting about the boring night shift and rising rice wine prices—startle. Their small laughter dies instantly, swallowed by your cry.
Trained reflexes take over. In the blink of an eye, the casual atmosphere turns to combat readiness. The sharp clash of metal rings out—clang!—as they straighten and level their spear tips directly at you.
"Stop right there!" one shouts.
You pay no mind to the spears. You care nothing for physical threats. The pain in your neck—the pain from your sword's connection—still throbs, reminding you of the rolling head.
"It wasn't my fault," you say softly, a desperate whisper aimed at the night wind, at the gods, at anyone willing to listen. "It wasn't…"
The two Millelith exchange confused glances. Under the gate lantern light, they narrow their eyes, trying to recognize the figure before them. They see a young man who looks like he just emerged from hell or survived a sea storm.
Then they look away from each other, staring back at you warily yet curiously.
"Hey, you there. What's wrong?" asks one—a young soldier whose face hasn't yet hardened from war. He gives his partner a silent nod—let me handle this, he looks drunk—then steps forward toward you.
"I didn't mean to," you say again, voice trembling violently, teeth chattering.
The approaching Millelith catches your words. His brows furrow beneath his iron helm. He still levels his spear tip at you, keeping safe distance, steps cautious like approaching a wounded wild animal.
"Didn't mean to what? What happened, kid? Are you hurt?" he asks, tone a mix of interrogation and concern.
"He's dead…" The words fall from your lips like a heavy stone dropped into a deep well.
Hearing "dead," the Millelith startles. His posture stiffens instantly. His grip tightens on the spear. "Who's dead?!" he demands loudly. "Was there an attack? Bandits? Where?!"
"It wasn't me!" you scream hysterically. You bow your head deeply, hiding your face behind the curtain of your disheveled hair. Your shoulders shake violently. You want to hide from the light, from their stares, from the truth.
Only the street lantern illuminates your hair, creating an ironic golden halo above a sinner's head.
"I'm not at fault! No, I'm the one who did it!"
Suddenly, you look up.
You stare at the young Millelith's face. Your gaze locks on him.
Your eyes bulge, wide and red. Blood vessels burst, mapping red across the whites. Your face deathly pale, gaunt, as if blood has been drained, leaving skin clinging to skull. It's the face of someone whose soul is burning. The face of someone dying.
Seeing this face shocks the approaching Millelith! His heart leaps in his chest. He sees no physical threat—he sees pure madness. He sees an abyss!
He immediately steps back several times quickly, nearly tripping over his own feet. Fear instantly crawls up his spine!
"By the Archons…" he whispers.
You advance. Your steps staggering yet urgent, as if forcing him to believe you.
"The sword is at fault! The sword killed him!" you scream, voice cracking. You shift blame to the lifeless object, to The Blade of Insatiable Ego. "It moved on its own! I didn't command it! I didn't want to kill!"
The Millelith, retreating too fast from your shout, loses balance. His heel catches in a paving stone crack. Thud.
He falls backward, rear hitting hard ground. His spear slips from his hand, clanging loudly.
He stares up at you from below, body trembling. He sees you looming over him, your silhouette blocking the lantern light, making you look like a shadow monster.
"Hey," you say, voice suddenly shifting drastically. From hysterical scream to cold, demanding whisper.
Your face hides behind hair again as you bow to stare at him.
Then you meet his eyes once more. Your gaze trembles wildly, seeking validation, seeking forgiveness.
"I'm not at fault, right?" you ask, like a child who just broke an expensive vase.
You bend down, hands moving fast. You grab the Millelith's collar with both hands. Your grip strong, fingers whitening, desperate.
"Tell me I'm not at fault, right?!" you shake him. You shake the soldier's body like a rag doll. "TELL ME I'M NOT AT FAULT!"
The other gate Millelith, seeing his partner attacked and downed, reacts instantly.
"Stop! Let him go!" his comrade shouts, running closer with spear ready to thrust.
He doesn't stab you immediately. Seeing your state, he drops his spear and grabs your arms, pulling you forcefully back.
"That's enough, kid! Snap out of it!"
Your strength vanishes instantly when pulled. You release his collar. You collapse limply to the dusty ground, kneeling beside the still-shocked Millelith.
You bow your head, staring at the cold stone ground. Staring at dust grains that don't judge you.
"I didn't kill… I didn't kill…" you repeat, trying to convince yourself, trying to rewrite the memory from hours ago. "It was an accident… self-defense…"
But the image of the small Hilichurl's rolling head stopping at your feet, and the Boss's chest pierced by the black sword with spraying blood, keeps spinning in your brain like a fast-turning lantern.
Your tears fall. Drip… drip… Onto the dust, creating dark wet spots.
You fall silent for a moment, letting tears flow soundlessly. Your shoulders rise and fall. Your sobs catch in your chest, painful.
Then you squeeze your eyes shut tight, covering them with dirty hands. Roughly wiping your face, as if trying to erase the horrific visual memory, as if wanting to peel off your own facial skin to become someone else.
The fallen Millelith stands again, helped by his partner. He brushes dust from his clothes with trembling hands. His face pale.
The fellow Millelith exchange confused shrugs. They look at each other questioningly.
"Is he drunk?" whispers the young one. "No idea. But he looks destroyed. Look at his eyes," replies the other.
But then, amid your tear-wiping, the scent memory returns. Fishy blood. Burnt flesh from purple energy.
You remember the muscular man's corpse. His face frozen in eternal hatred, eyes glaring as life faded.
"I will curse you…"
Your stomach churns violently. Unbearable nausea rises to your throat. Retch!
Acidic fluid and undigested food remnants spill from your mouth, soiling Liyue's clean street before the gate. You cough, body convulsing, expelling self-disgust.
You vomit!
During this, passersby—night merchants returning home, couples finishing dates, citizens enjoying the night breeze—pause to watch.
They keep distance, covering noses with sleeves or fans. They whisper, voices buzzing like bees in your ears.
"Who is he? Disgusting." "Heavy drunk, looks like. Kids these days…" "Poor thing, maybe he just lost at gambling." "Don't get close, dear."
Not one word from their whispers reaches your ears clearly. Your ears ring loudly, filled with the Boss's roar and the dying Hilichurls' laughter.
"Calm now?"
A heavy Millelith voice pierces the fog in your head. He stands beside you, no longer aiming his spear. He offers a worn handkerchief.
You look up slightly, taking the handkerchief with trembling hand. You nod weakly, wiping your mouth. Acid taste lingers on your tongue.
"Thank you," you whisper hoarsely, voice spent.
"Got time after this?" he asks, tone probing yet not hostile. "We'd like a quick word at the post. About what you said earlier… about someone dying. If there's a body, we need to know."
You shake your head weakly. You don't want to talk. Not now.
"Want to go home… I want to go home…" you stand slowly. Your legs like jelly, boneless. You walk unsteadily, staggering like a lost zombie.
"But–" says the young Millelith, wanting to stop you. Procedural instinct says this is wrong. Someone confessing murder shouldn't just walk away.
"Alright, alright, rest up. We'll talk when you're better," says the other, holding his partner's shoulder.
He shakes his head at the young soldier. He knows it's pointless talking to someone in deep shock. This man isn't dangerous—he's just broken.
He wants to ask 'who died,' but seeing your shattered state, those vacant eyes, they swallow the urge. Forcing you now would only drive you madder.
"Let him go. If there's a body, we'll find it tomorrow morning," he whispers.
The Millelith watches your retreating back, staggering away from the bright gate into city darkness.
"Will he be okay?" asks the young one, still worried.
"Let's just pray," he says, looking at the starless night sky, sighing long.
On the other side, you keep walking. You avoid main streets. You slip into narrow dark alleys, damp places where rats and secrets hide.
You bow your head, chin on chest. You bite your lip hard until you taste your own blood iron. The pain keeps you conscious, preventing blackout.
"Damn," you curse at the brick street. "Why did they have to die…"
"It's my fault."
Not the sword's fault. Your fault. All your fault. Your fault for testing it. Your fault for greed.
"I'm sorry."
People walking the alley—perhaps thieves, perhaps night workers—immediately step aside, pressing against walls. They watch you warily and fearfully.
They see a young man walking while talking to himself, arguing with unseen ghosts. Your despair aura so thick the air around you feels cold.
"If only I hadn't let emotions take control, would it be different?" you whisper hysterically. "If only I ran earlier… If only I wasn't curious…"
"Damn… damn!" You stop in a dark corner under a wooden bridge. You lean against mossy brick wall. Your legs finally give out. "I've killed a human…"
You raise your hand. Your right hand. The hand that held the gacha box. The hand that gave blood to the sword.
You stare at your fingers as if they're foreign worms attached to your body.
Then, in an explosion of self-hatred, you shove all your fingers into your mouth. The next second, you bite your knuckles hard. Teeth pressing flesh. Eyes trembling, staring at darkness that stares back.
…
In the long polished corridor, Ganyu walks with measured steps. In her arms, she hugs a stack of newly approved salt tax documents by the Qixing. Beside her walks the bespectacled woman, carrying a similar stack but with stiffer, more efficient posture.
They head to Ganyu's office, passing sturdy pillars.
"So, Lady Ningguang finally approved the budget revision for the southern dock repairs?" Ganyu asks, trying to fill the silence, though her mind drifts elsewhere.
"Yes, Miss Ganyu," the bespectacled woman replies, adjusting her glasses with her elbow since her hands are full. "She was very impressed with your calculations' efficiency. She even said, 'Only Ganyu could find a single Mora discrepancy in this haystack of numbers.'"
Ganyu laughs softly—a polite yet slightly tired laugh. "Lady Ningguang flatters too much. It's just… an old habit."
They reach Ganyu's office door. The woman deftly opens it, letting Ganyu enter first. They place their burdens on the desk already filling up again.
"Thank you. You can rest now," Ganyu says, precisely aligning the paper stacks.
"You're welcome, Miss. But…" the bespectacled woman doesn't leave. She watches Ganyu walk to the large window overlooking the pavilion courtyard. "Wouldn't you like a short break? A walk in the garden perhaps?"
Ganyu turns, slightly surprised by the offer. "Ah, good idea. The air feels nice."
They step out, walking along the open veranda overlooking Yujing Terrace garden. Silk Flowers bloom vividly red against green bamboo leaves.
They chat lightly. The woman tells of her nephew learning calligraphy and spilling ink on his favorite clothes.
Ganyu listens, laughing at the right moments, responding with genuine enthusiasm.
"Children are full of surprises, aren't they," Ganyu comments with a soft smile.
But amid the conversation, her eyes aren't focused on her.
Ganyu scans surroundings. Her clear purple eyes sweep every corner of the courtyard. She looks toward the garden bench under the Sandbearer tree.
She looks toward pillars where someone usually hides or waits awkwardly.
She looks toward the entrance gate, hoping to see a young man in simple clothes with a nervous smile.
Only other officials pass by, busy with worldly affairs.
Ganyu sighs long. A breath carrying disappointment she tries to hide. Her shoulders drop slightly, her usually perfect posture curving a bit.
"He didn't come today, huh?" Ganyu asks, voice very soft, almost a whisper to herself. As if she didn't mean for anyone—even the wind—to hear.
But the bespectacled woman, with secretary ears trained to catch gossip and political whispers, hears clearly.
She tilts her head slightly, watching Ganyu's melancholic profile.
"Who are you looking for, Miss Ganyu?" she asks in feigned innocence.
Of course she already knows!
Who else could make her workaholic boss glance out the window every five minutes? Who else could make the Adeptus sigh like a lovestruck teenage girl?
She's just pretending ignorance to coax Ganyu into talking!
"Hmmm…" Ganyu pauses. She bites her lower lip, hesitant. "It's… my new friend. The one from yesterday… you remember?"
The woman feigns surprise. Eyes widening behind thick lenses. Then with slightly dramatized voice, she asks, "Don't tell me that man? The 'mysterious guest'?"
Ganyu nods slowly, cheeks faintly blushing. "Yes. He usually comes around this time. Or at least… I see him around here."
The bespectacled woman sighs long—this time truly tired of the situation.
"He didn't come, Miss," she says firmly.
"Other staff would notice if he did. That man… stands out with his odd behavior. I even asked them to report to me if they saw him."
She glances at a group of officials resting near the fish pond. She gives them a sharp look.
The officials feel the deadly stare from their senior assistant. They exchange glances, then unanimously shake heads and nod at her, confirming the target's absence.
"Unfortunately, no reports today," she continues, looking back at Ganyu with mixed sympathy and frustration. "He's truly not in Yujing Terrace."
Ganyu smiles thinly—a fragile smile. Then she bows her head sadly, staring at her shoe tips touching the stone floor.
"Hmmm… I see," she murmurs. Her voice thick with disappointment. "Sorry for troubling you. Asking others to watch… that was excessive."
The bespectacled woman smiles—this time genuinely. She puffs her chest slightly, showing loyalty.
"No problem, Miss. Doing this is enjoyable. Ensuring your safety and comfort is my priority. So it's fine."
Then she shifts expression. Back to serious yet slightly sharp "gossip mode." Eyes glinting behind glasses.
"By the way, Miss Ganyu," she says while pacing slowly before Ganyu, fingers playing with her sleeve end. "There's a strange rumor going around."
"Rumor?"
"Yes. Apparently, a strange man was shouting in the streets near the main gate. Like a madman, or heavily drunk. Talking to himself, screaming hysterically…"
She pauses deliberately for dramatic effect.
"Supposedly, the strange man blamed himself while crying hysterically. He shouted about… murder? Or death? Details are muddled."
"You mean?" Ganyu tilts her head, confused. Brows furrowing. "What does that have to do with…"
The woman stops pacing. She stands directly before Ganyu, meeting her boss's purple eyes.
"From the physical description I heard—odd shoes, black hair, handsome face—the strange man matches the characteristics of the man you're looking for, Miss."
Ganyu startles. Eyes widening. Hand covering her slightly open mouth. "What? Him? Crying hysterically?"
"Yes. They say he looked utterly broken. Like he'd just seen a ghost."
The woman smiles thinly, watching Ganyu's reaction. She knows she hit the mark.
"Don't want to go find him yourself?" she teases. "Maybe he needs… a friend?"
Ganyu falls silent briefly. Her mind processes the information. The man didn't come. The man looked broken.
Worry instantly floods her heart, chasing away shame and doubt. "You're right," Ganyu says firmly.
She nods quickly at her. "Thank you! Your information is invaluable. I… I'll go for a bit. Please handle if anyone looks for me!"
Without waiting for reply, Ganyu turns and half-runs from the courtyard. Steps quick, bells ringing cling-cling-cling in urgent rhythm.
"Be careful on the way, Miss!" she calls, waving as her usually calm boss runs like a girl late for a date.
When Miss Ganyu's back vanishes beyond the moonlit gate, the woman lowers her hand.
She adjusts her glasses again, pushing them up her nose. She sighs long.
"I wonder why Miss Ganyu is interested in that man…" she mutters. "To me, no one is stranger or more suspicious than him. No status, no wealth, and seems to have many mental issues."
She pauses, staring into the distance, toward the harbor beginning to light its lamps.
"And I think Miss Ganyu knows he's trying to get close to her… I mean, it's obvious. The visits and adoring looks… cliché."
"But… ah well," she waves her hand, dismissing the thought. "Trying to understand an Adeptus's heart gives me a headache. That's not bureaucratic logic territory."
"Accept or reject isn't my decision. My job is ensuring Miss Ganyu isn't taken advantage of."
She looks at the sky displaying stars. The night sky looks beautiful.
"For Miss Ganyu, I hope you're okay…" she whispers sincerely. She pauses, pressing lips into a thin line. "Wanderer…."
…
A/N: Here I made a scene where the Protagonist experiences depression after witnessing the massacre caused by his own actions. And the victims include a human. He has killed a human… this will surely traumatize him from getting close to other humans. I think that includes Adeptus… can you imagine what happens in the next chapter? If you can't wait for the next chapter, please check my Patreon—I write faster there than on this platform!