Chapter 57: Zhongli's Drifting Thoughts
"Is it not fortunate that nothing happened?" Zhongli set his porcelain teacup onto the table with a soft, measured clink. His tone remained as smooth and unyielding as ancient bedrock, a deliberate attempt to soothe his old friend—an old friend whose temperament had recently regressed to something rather youthful.
He had already explained, quite clearly, that his brief departure was merely to handle a minor personal matter involving a visitor from another world. There was no impending war. No cataclysm.
"Fortunate my foot!" Azhdaha snorted. A heavy breath of hot air blasted from his nostrils, causing the sturdy wooden table to vibrate with a low, ominous hum.
With the agonizing erosion finally purged from his mind, the Dragon King's inherent draconic vivacity—or perhaps just his sheer, unfiltered irritability—had been completely unleashed. Millennia of suppressed suffering had given way to a boundless, restless energy.
"Do you have any idea how I spent this entire day?" Azhdaha leaned forward, his golden eyes burning. "On high alert! Pacing! Waiting for the sky to fall!"
He threw his hands up in exasperation.
"And then you stroll back in and tell me you just paid a visit? And returned the same day? Morax, do you take me for a newly hatched whelp? What kind of casual visit requires me to stay behind and guard the territory?!"
The more Azhdaha spoke, the more agitated he became. He shifted restlessly in his chair, the wood groaning in protest under his shifting weight.
"An otherworldly visitor? A small personal matter? Keep making it up! Go on! Is it some blind, inconsiderate remnant of a defeated god rearing its ugly head again? Tell me! Point me in their direction and I will smash them back into the earth's core right now! Do not hold back on me! Hiding behind polite excuses was never your style!"
A heavy palm struck the table with a sharp crack. The entire tea set clattered, amber liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rims. He glared at Zhongli, crossing his arms with the indignant energy of a child throwing a tantrum after being left behind.
Zhongli simply looked at his oldest companion. Azhdaha had certainly regained his vitality, but in doing so, he had become exceptionally difficult to manage. A near-imperceptible sigh escaped Zhongli's lips. Sometimes, he mused, the cost of curing erosion felt just a fraction too high.
He had already laid out the truth, plain and simple, yet Azhdaha utterly refused to believe it. The dragon remained entirely immersed in his own self-directed script of a grand, secret war.
Zhongli tuned out the grumbling for a moment, his consciousness drifting toward the glowing interface of the chat group. He watched the scrolling messages—Stelle enthusiastically reporting how she was chasing Pom-Pom around the Astral Express to rub the conductor's fur for gacha luck, followed by Dan Heng dryly confirming that this bizarre metaphysical ritual had actually yielded results.
All the while, Azhdaha's incessant, resentful roaring continued to echo in his right ear.
For a brief, unguarded second, Zhongli's mind—usually as immovable as the very bedrock of Liyue—experienced a subtle fluctuation.
A rather bizarre thought began to take root in his head.
'If one speaks of deep blessings and an auspicious aura...'he mused silently.'Ganyu, being a Qilin, an auspicious beast of legend, would naturally be the most potent candidate in Teyvat for such a ritual. It is just...'
The moment the idea surfaced, his imagination involuntarily supplied the visual. He pictured himself—the dignified consultant of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor and the former Geo Archon—solemnly approaching the general secretary of the Liyue Qixing while she was buried beneath her usual mountain of bureaucratic documents.
He envisioned himself reaching out. Extending a hand to gently stroke her iconic, crimson-striped Qilin horns. He would have to do it with the exact same motion Stelle used on Pom-Pom's fluffy head, maintaining the utmost seriousness of a scholar conducting a vital scientific experiment, all to siphon some metaphysical luck for a chat group gacha pull...
'...Unsuitable. Highly unsuitable.' Zhongli instantly crushed the thought, locking it away in the deepest vaults of his mind.
The mere imagination of the scenario was dripping with incongruity. It bordered on the absurd. A dignified Archon, even a retired one, patting a junior's head to secure better odds in a cosmic lottery? What kind of decorum was that!
, Ganyu was notoriously thin-skinned and took everything far too seriously. A sudden action like that would undoubtedly startle her into freezing solid on the spot. She would likely scatter her carefully organized reports across the floor, her face flushing a brilliant crimson as she stammered out, "Lord... Lord Rex Lapis, what are your commands?"
Just visualizing the sheer panic in her eyes made Zhongli feel that his own wayward thoughts deserved to be suppressed by a celestial meteor.
He picked up his teacup once more, allowing the rising curls of steam to completely mask the fleeting flash of awkwardness in his golden eyes. He found his own lapse in composure somewhat amusing. It seemed Azhdaha's relentless noise had finally succeeded in making his thoughts wander.
Composing himself, Zhongli thoroughly banished the inappropriate, almost transgressive metaphysical ideas from his consciousness.
"Azhdaha..." His voice returned to its usual placid cadence, carrying a heavy, grounding power meant to anchor the listener. "Rest assured. Liyue is fine, and so am I. Drink your tea."
He reached across the table, gently pushing a freshly poured, fragrant cup of hot tea directly in front of the still-sulking Dragon King.
Azhdaha glared down at the delicate porcelain. He then shifted his glare to Zhongli's utterly unperturbed face. Finally, with a grumpy huff, the dragon snatched the teacup off the saucer and downed the scalding liquid in a single, aggressive gulp, tossing his head back with the bold motion of a man downing strong liquor.
He slammed the empty cup back onto the table.
"Hmph! If you dare to sneak away so mysteriously again, I will march down to the harbor, rip the roof off your precious Wangsheng Funeral Parlor, and let the whole place bask in the open sun!"
He delivered the threat with fierce, bared teeth, but the underlying tone lacked any real malice. It was merely the helpless, dramatic complaint of an old friend.
"Then you had best be careful of Director Hu," Zhongli replied. For once, he decided to play along with the threat, a faint, rare smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I am merely a humble consultant with a rather meager income. If you rip the roof off the parlor, you might just find yourself forced to work alongside me to pay off the property damage. After all, I answer to our Director Hu now."
The words were intended to lighten the mood. The actual effect, however, was entirely counterproductive.
Upon hearing this, Azhdaha did not calm down in the slightest. Instead, the joke seemed to ignite an entirely new grievance. His golden, slit-pupiled eyes widened to comical proportions.
"Work?! Pay off a debt?!" Azhdaha sputtered, leaning so far forward he nearly tipped the table. "Morax! Are you even speaking human words right now?! I, the mighty Azhdaha, Lord of the Vishaps, working a mortal job for you to pay off a debt?! You..."
Seeing the deep breath Azhdaha was taking to launch into a fresh round of passionate denunciation, Zhongli decisively concluded that this was the perfect moment to roll the gacha.
While the Dragon King was still furiously organizing his vocabulary for the incoming accusation, Zhongli swiftly sank his consciousness back into the chat group interface. With a mere flicker of thought, he pressed the [Ten-Pull] button.
[Ding! Points deducted.]
A brilliant cascade of light erupted within his mind's eye. Three deep, condensed spheres of blue light, one piercingly bright green light, and a scattering of dimmer white flashes bloomed in the dark void of his consciousness. The lights swirled, converging and solidifying as the newly acquired items materialized within his mental perception.
The first blue light expanded, transforming into a classic, bound text. The material was neither silk nor paper, but something entirely unique—smooth, heavy, and warm to the touch, much like fine jade. Across its cover, several ancient, vigorous characters were written in flowing cloud-script: Method of Illuminating My True Self.
As the system fed the information into his mind, Zhongli realized this was not an offensive martial technique. Rather, it was a secret visualization art designed for refining the mind and clarifying one's chosen path.
A practitioner needed to completely still their thoughts and contemplate their true self—visualizing whatever form most perfectly aligned with their core being. By using this mental avatar to reflect upon their inner landscape, they could cleanse spiritual impurities, banish distracting worldly thoughts, and temper their resolve to push forward.
Long-term practice promised a crystal-clear Dao Heart, rendering the user's mind an impenetrable fortress against the invasion of external evils. On the arduous path of cultivation, it served as a perfect shield against mental demons and deceptive illusions.
For an existence at Zhongli's unfathomable level, such a technique offered absolutely zero increase in raw combat power. His strength was already absolute. However, its core essence—stabilizing the heart and perceiving the true self—subtly aligned with his current, quiet state of wandering through the mortal realm. It was a tool for experiencing the mundane without losing oneself to it. In that regard, it was quite suitable, serving as an excellent philosophical reference.
The second blue light flared, slowly condensing into the shape of a small humanoid figure.
It was entirely composed of a strange, pale material that resembled neither wood nor stone. Its joints were carefully carved, boasting fluid, seamless lines that suggested masterful craftsmanship. Though the face was a blank slate devoid of features, the figure subtly exuded a gentle, pulsing aura of life and a deep sense of natural inclusiveness.
The system provided the details. This was an [Essence-Nourishing Puppet], an artifact crafted with absolute top-tier artistry, originating from a cultivation world that the system classified as merely mid-tier.
Its core, miraculous function was staggering: if one were to place just a single wisp of a residual soul—or even the faintest trace of a lingering mental imprint—within its central array hub, the puppet would activate. It would then slowly nourish and rebuild that fractured soul, drawing upon its own dense spiritual materials to feed the fragment until it fully recovered its complete sentience and original form.
It was, in essence, a miraculous vessel capable of recreating lost life.
However, such an item naturally had its limits.
The maximum soul strength that the puppet's materials and core array could bear was strictly capped. It was clearly far below the sheer weight of Zhongli's own divine soul, an entity that had accumulated power over six millennia and was as vast and heavy as a sea of stars. If he tried to use it on himself, the puppet would instantly shatter under the pressure.
For his own personal use, the item was akin to a chicken rib—flavorful to chew on, but ultimately lacking any real meat. Useful in theory, but entirely non-essential.
But the moment his golden gaze fell upon the [Essence-Nourishing Puppet] resting in his inventory, the ambient noise of Azhdaha's ranting faded into the background.
Zhongli stared at the blank, featureless face of the wooden vessel, and a very old, very distant memory surfaced in his mind. He seemed to recall someone else...
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