Natsume Sōseki had helped Zhongli find a house.Of course, his reasons were not entirely altruistic—Chuuya's health was the smallest concern on that list. The real priority was to keep this dangerous outsider with immense power under constant observation, where he could be monitored at all times.
But after more than a week of close surveillance, Natsume began to realize that this strange ability user—about whom no records could be found—seemed genuinely focused only on taking care of Chuuya.
On the very first day, Zhongli spent the rest of his funds buying daily necessities and drinking water. Then he settled into a quiet, uneventful routine. Every day, he cooked for Chuuya, taught him to speak by using pillows, blades of grass, and children's picture books, and even began teaching him to read.If not for the occasional need to fend off gangsters and yakuza who came looking for trouble, Natsume might have forgotten that this was a dangerous, combat-capable man.
To his surprise, Zhongli even took a job—at a funeral home in Chinatown—like any ordinary citizen.
---
"Mr. Zhongli, what are you looking at?"
The question came from He Yao, the funeral home's makeup artist, as he caught sight of Zhongli staring out the window.
"Nothing," Zhongli replied, calmly withdrawing his gaze from the corner where a certain calico cat was hidden. His face remained as expressionless as ever.
He Yao, apparently emboldened, propped his chin on the back of his chair. "Speaking of which… why did you choose to work at a funeral home? You're so well-educated and talented—surely there are jobs better suited to your skills than this."
In Chinese tradition, most people avoid work related to death unless necessity forces them into it. Someone like Zhongli—handsome, refined, and clearly from elsewhere—felt especially out of place here.
Zhongli, in truth, had no particular reason. It was simply habit—he was used to working in halls of parting—and the pay for funeral services in chaotic Yokohama was good. But seeing the curiosity in He Yao's eyes, he knew the honest explanation would be taken as a poor excuse.
So he said instead, in his measured tone:"Birth, aging, illness, and death are all part of the order of reincarnation. To face them with calm is natural. Every order needs caretakers, and funerary rites bear double the responsibility. That is all."
His expression was grave, the weight in his words making them sound like they'd been taken straight from a philosopher's teachings. He Yao, moved, immediately responded, "Your ambitions are admirable, sir. My perspective was too small."
Zhongli simply sipped his tea.
---
Before He Yao could say more, a smooth, unfamiliar voice came from the doorway:
"Mr. Zhongli's perspective is the most unique I've ever encountered."
Both men looked up to see a white-haired young man in a dark suit walking in.
He Yao stiffened instantly. "Mr. Tono!"
Tono Saiju—eyes closed, a polite smile on his face—nodded to He Yao before pulling out a chair to sit beside Zhongli.
"I didn't expect you to be proficient in Chinese, Mr. Tono," Zhongli said evenly.
"Just a little knowledge," Tono replied modestly, then shifted the conversation. "Have you given any thought to my previous proposal?"
"Not concerning myself with mortal affairs, only seeking a place to live—that remains my answer, no matter how many times you ask."
"What a pity." Tono spread his hands, though his face showed no trace of regret. "A man like you would be a valuable ally."
Zhongli stirred the tea leaves with his lid. "I appreciate you not pressing further."
---
He Yao stood to the side, tense. Tono was a high-ranking member of a criminal organization that occasionally ordered funeral packages here. Recently, for reasons unknown, he'd taken a keen interest in the new master of ceremonies, making frequent attempts to recruit him.
In He Yao's mind, it was already remarkable that Zhongli had refused so many times without meeting a violent end.
"What brings you here today, Mr. Tono?" Zhongli asked.
"A rather important member of our group has died," Tono replied casually. "The boss sent me to arrange his funeral."
"The usual arrangement?"
Tono's smile widened. "Has Mr. Zhongli been reviewing our past contracts? Yes, the old way will do."
Zhongli called the receptionist to draw up the paperwork. But before signing, Tono added, "This time, I want to personally invite you to conduct the funeral."
"I'm merely the master of ceremonies."
"I can pay extra." Tono gestured a figure with his hand, making He Yao's eyes widen.
Zhongli—who had been thinking about buying Chuuya new clothes—paused. "…If you insist."
Even the Geo Archon, stripped of the high-paying work he once had in Liyue, had to bow slightly to reality.
---
Tono arrived in his own car, and instead of riding in the funeral home's vehicle, Zhongli accepted his invitation to join him.
As the car glided through the streets, Tono tilted his head slightly, listening.
Zhongli's heartbeat was steady—deep and resonant, like the earth itself. No sadness, no joy. It was unshakable.
At first, Tono's interest in him had been entirely due to power. But now… he simply wanted to hear that sound again.
Perhaps, he thought, there were other ways to stir it. The child Zhongli had adopted, for instance… What would happen to that heartbeat if something happened to Chuuya?
"Mr. Tono, we're here," the driver announced, breaking his thoughts.
They arrived at a nondescript two-story building. Inside, Tono explained that the body was in the basement. The smell of blood was heavy in the air.
When the sheet was pulled back, the corpse beneath was mutilated—missing a hand, an eye, and the tongue.
The funeral home's driver gasped, but Zhongli's expression didn't change in the slightest.
An explosion suddenly shook the ground above, dust sifting from the ceiling. The driver went pale at Tono's next words:
"Sounds like the Port Mafia."
"Mr. Tono," Zhongli said quietly, "was this an accident?"
"…Ah." Tono chuckled.
"What else could it be?"