The day has dawned. Sunlight pierces your still sticky eyes, forcing reality into your mind.
After showering with cold water that makes your bones chatter awake, you immediately leave your rented lodging.
Your goal today is no longer just wandering aimlessly.
You have a mission: to find information about Ganyu.
However, you've learned from yesterday's mistakes; you won't ask directly. You'll be the ear that listens, not the mouth that speaks.
Outside, as you're walking on the increasingly busy stone streets while yawning widely, your eyes catch something.
On the uphill roadside, you see an old man. His back hunched by age, his skin wrinkled like an old roadmap. He's in trouble.
In front of him is a pushcart with its wheel stuck in a stone crevice, while its load—sacks of rice and wooden crates—seems threatening to spill.
You approach him. Not because you're a saint, but perhaps because you want to prove to yourself that you're still part of humanity.
You offer to lift the old merchant's goods, hoping to prove your good intentions, or at least, blend in positively.
"Let me help you, old sir," you say, your tone sincere.
The old man looks up, his bleary eyes narrowing. Though he accepts with a short nod, his eyes still watch your every move carefully.
In any world, free help is the most suspicious commodity.
But he doesn't refuse, because his back is indeed screaming for mercy.
You then resume helping with other small things.
You push the cart out of the hole, retie the loose sacks, and even accompany him pushing until the flat road. Sweat starts soaking your new shirt, but it's honest sweat.
After reaching a safe place, the old man wipes his forehead with his sleeve.
"Thank you for helping me," his voice hoarse, like sandpaper scraping. He stares at you, assessing your neat clothes but your foreign face.
He seems hesitant before saying, "Is there something I can help with? Like, a question… I'll answer it."
That sentence is simple, but to you, it sounds like a warning bell.
Hearing this, your heart buzzes.
Opportunity!
You could ask about Ganyu. You could ask about Yuehai Pavilion. Your tongue itches to utter that name.
You're tempted to ask about Ganyu, your lips already slightly open forming the syllable 'Ga-'. But after thinking long and hard, you hold back.
The memory of the suspicious stare from the woman in the clothing store yesterday haunts you again.
You don't end up asking. You swallow that name whole.
Instead, you ask inwardly: Why does he feel like I'll ask him something?
This makes you narrow your eyes, staring at that tired old face.
In this world, is every interaction a transaction?
Is pure kindness considered a myth?
If he suspects you want something, that means he sees you not as a helper, but as a service trader.
And if you ask about Ganyu now, you'll only confirm his suspicion that you have a hidden motive.
You decide to break that expectation. You decide to be a confusing anomaly.
You shake your head slowly.
"It's fine. Besides, I have free time," you reply lightly. You tuck both hands into your pants pockets.
"Just wanted some exercise," you add, lying.
You see confusion in the old man's eyes.
And that satisfies you.
Then you turn around.
After that, you walk away again, leaving the old man still frozen staring at your back.
You walk while rethinking your role in this world.
How exhausting.
Every interaction often carries emotional burden and political calculation. You just helped someone, but it feels like you just avoided a diplomatic trap.
After helping and then having a short conversation with the old merchant, you suddenly think about this deeper.
Relationships. Connections. Interactions.
But that's exactly what you want to avoid the most, because relationships always feel like risks you can't control.
Every new person is a new variable that can destroy you, little by little.
Every conversation is a minefield.
But your ultimate goal, that damned quest, culminates in that emotional burden.
You have to build the deepest relationship with someone, even though greeting a merchant already makes you paranoid.
Now you feel this is too contradictory.
You're an introvert forced to be a Casanova, a fugitive forced to be a celebrity.
How can I swim if I'm afraid of water? you mutter bitterly.
While busy in your spinning thoughts like a top, your eyes catch a stone bench under a Ginkgo tree whose leaves are starting to yellow.
You sit in the corner, pulling up your legs, and start observing the passing locals.
Then your focus lands on one scene.
Across the street, two women meet. They wear simple cheongsams, shopping baskets in hand. Their faces brighten when they see each other.
They smile happily meeting the other woman.
"Aiya! Sister Li! Long time no see!" exclaims one of them. "Mei! You look so fresh today!" replies the other.
While sitting, you observe them for quite a while.
You dissect that interaction like a scientist dissecting a frog.
You note the curve of their smiles, the degree of head tilt when greeting, the rising tone at the end of sentences.
They do simple introductions and exchange news so fluidly, so... humanly.
You observe this for a long time, absorbing the data. No tension. No suspicion. Just a warm flow of emotions.
Then they part, separating with light waves that are casual.
You're alone again on that bench.
You bow your head and nod, trying to simulate what you just saw.
"Hello... Long time no see," you whisper to the paving stone. Stiff. Too formal.
You try again. "Hi! You look... fresh?"
Euh, this sounds creepy if said by a stranger.
You try repeating simple greeting sentences that sound safe to your ears. "Excuse me, my name is... ah, what's my name here? Traveler? No, that's too generic."
But every time you try to say it louder, that awkward feeling arises again, as if your tongue refuses to cooperate. It feels like there's glue on the roof of your mouth.
You feel stupid talking to yourself on the roadside.
Indeed, no one is observing you directly—people are too busy with their affairs—making you feel social death, but that doesn't comfort you.
The embarrassment is internal.
You finally decide to practice slowly, letting each repetition refine your courage.
You mutter like someone reciting a mantra, hoping the mantra can turn you into a smooth person.
"Hello, may I ask... Hello, sorry to disturb..."
After those pathetic few minutes, you draw a long breath.
"Seems like this is enough?" you say doubtfully, tilting your head, assessing your own acting performance.
Score: 4 out of 10.
But it has to be enough.
Indeed, you've mimicked the locals before, but what's wrong with mimicking for the second time?
Consistency is needed to live in a cruel world.
Then you stand up.
You brush your clothes clean from the park bench dust.
Then you head to Yuehai Pavilion.
This time, you won't try to break through the front gate like a fool. You'll wait.
You'll be a patient hunter.
You arrive at the garden area below Yuehai Pavilion's terrace. The distance is safe enough from the Millelith, but close enough to see the traffic of people coming in and out.
You wait for a long time.
The sun moves from east to its peak. Tree shadows shorten then lengthen again.
You sit there in silence, pretending to enjoy the lotus pond view, though your eyes never leave the main stairs.
You start observing boredly. You count the number of koi in the pond. You count the number of clouds.
Boredom is a deadlier enemy than fear; And this dulls your mind.
However, when your eyes start feeling heavy, a movement catches your attention.
You widen your eyes when you see a group of people descending from the pavilion's side stairs.
They seem not to be guards.
They wear formal clothes, neat robes with the same badges. They carry stacks of paper scrolls and thick books.
They look tired, their shoulders slumped, the hallmark of corporate employees—or in this case, state bureaucrats—who are exhausted.
Are they heading to Ganyu? you whisper, adrenaline starting to pump blood to your fingertips.
Or at least, they work with Ganyu.
They walk in a line, chatting softly, heading toward a archive warehouse building located somewhat separated from the main complex, in a quieter part of Yujing Terrace.
You then get up, leaving your hiding bench.
You follow them carefully while checking the surroundings.
You utilize stone pillars, hide behind flower merchant carts, duck when one of them glances back.
After doing this for a few meters, the reality of the situation hits you.
You suddenly say in a small voice, "This seems like I'm a skilled stalker… which can't be denied."
There's a disgust toward yourself.
You, an isekai story protagonist, instead of conquering dragons or saving princesses, are sneaking around tailing civil servants.
Truly a tragic demotion!
But you still follow them.
Embarrassment can't save your life. But information can!
They keep walking, so eventually stop at a place.
A sturdy stone building with heavy iron doors. No guards in front, perhaps because this is just an old archive warehouse rarely visited by important people.
They talk briefly at the entrance.
"Just store this in Rack B-12. Miss Ganyu said she doesn't need last year's tax data now," says one of them.
Your ears ring. Miss Ganyu.
They open the door. The hinge creaks heavily. Then they enter the place.
You wait. One second. Two seconds.
You follow slowly. You hold the door before it fully closes with your toe, then slip in silently like a cat stealing fish.
The place's scent immediately assaults you.
The smell of old paper, dried ink, dust, and a bit of mold.
The light inside is dim, only illuminated by a few oil lanterns on the walls and sunlight entering through high ventilation windows.
The place is full of documents.
Wooden racks as high as the ceiling lined up neatly, forming a labyrinth of knowledge. Thousands of scrolls, books, and sheets of paper stacked everywhere.
You hide behind a stack of boxes as the group of employees walks to the back.
After that, the group places their belongings, complains a bit about overtime hours, then turns to leave.
They take other documents and leave you alone there.
Blam.
The door closes. The sound of the key turning from outside.
Silence.
You're shocked. Your eyes widen in the darkness. They locked it! But... you're inside.
Knowing that your action is unreasonable—you just trapped yourself in a state archive warehouse—you feel panic for a moment. But then, logic takes over. If they locked it, that means no one will enter soon.
You have time.
And you have privacy.
But you stay still for a moment, listening to their footsteps fade, making sure you're truly safe.
After being sure it's quiet, you then take action to wander in the warehouse.
Your steps echo softly on the stone floor. Your fingers trace the spines of those thick books.
Chasm Mining Report Year 300.
Silk Flower Export Data. Qingce Village Population Census.
Reading document after document, your eyes move quickly, scanning keywords. You're looking for one name.
An hour passes. Dust makes your nose itch.
Then, at a messy work desk in the room's corner, under a pile of scrolls that seem recently sorted, perhaps by those employees, your eyes catch something.
A small notebook with a light blue cover, different from the other stiff official documents.
You approach. You open it.
The writing inside is neat, elegant, but seems written in a hurry. There are task lists, meeting schedules, and small notes about herbal diets.
And on the front page, a name is written in bold but graceful black ink.
You suddenly see the name Ganyu there.
[General Secretary's Daily Log - Ganyu]
Your breath catches. This isn't just a document about her. This is her schedule. Her habits. Her life poured onto paper.
You've found the "holy scripture" for your mission.
In the midst of dust and silence of the archive warehouse, you finally hold the end of the red thread you've been seeking.
However, as you read the first line, you realize something that makes your chest tight.
"Today's Schedule: Overtime. Again."
…
Now you're waiting near the main office entrance, standing behind the shadow of a large pillar, pretending to observe something in the distance, maybe seagulls, maybe clouds, to look like a tourist just passing or a local enjoying the view.
Though you got valuable information, that your target is a hard worker who barely has a life, but it's useless if you don't meet the person.
A name on paper has no heartbeat.
You need a face.
And you need a voice.
Time crawls slowly. The sun starts leaning west, turning pillar shadows into giant clock hands pointing at you.
At this moment, when you're shifting your weight from left foot to right foot because of soreness, an employee who just came out for a brief break stops his steps.
He looks at you. His stare isn't friendly.
He approaches you, his eyes narrowing behind his reading glasses.
"Sorry, sir. This area is for Qixing administrative affairs only. If you have no appointment, I must ask you to move away from this area," he says, his tone polite but cold, like the marble wall behind him.
Your heart pounds. "Ah, sorry. I... I'm looking for the way to the northern harbor? I seem to be going in circles," you reply with a stiff smile.
You try pretending to ask directions randomly to that employee!
But the one answering isn't that employee.
A heavy voice and clinking armor sound from behind you. A Millelith has stood there, his spear gleaming in the afternoon sun.
"The harbor is below, not up here, Citizen," the Millelith says flatly. He gestures with his hand. "Let me escort you to the exit stairs."
Clearly that's not an offer. It's a subtle command.
You nod obediently, trying to hide the awkwardness burning your face before walking away. You walk accompanied by their stares, feeling like a thief caught red-handed even though you haven't stolen anything but the air in that place.
Forget it, you have stolen a document.
Then you wait below, in a more public area. You wait until afternoon, hoping to see her silhouette descending.
But get no results. The sky changes from blue to orange, and your effort to contact Ganyu, fails.
The Millelith guarding the lower gate still stare at you suspiciously. They don't take action because you're already in the public zone, but their eyes don't leave you.
You can hear them whispering, their voices carried by the afternoon wind.
"Isn't that the foreigner who came here suspiciously last night?" "Yes, the one with weird shoes. He's lurking again. Make sure he doesn't go up."
You pretend not to hear. You deafen your ears, staring at your own shoe tips, trying to shrink your presence.
On the way home, your steps weary.
You traverse Liyue's streets starting to be lit by lanterns.
This city comes alive at dusk. Tea houses full, food aromas waft tempting the appetite, and laughter sounds everywhere.
You observe how people around you talk easily.
A merchant pats his customer's shoulder.
A couple walks hand in hand.
A group of young people laugh uproariously at their friend's joke.
For them, interpersonal relationships are natural, as easy as breathing. For them, words are bridges.
But you see yourself in the reflection of an antique shop mirror you pass.
You stop briefly.
Time slows as you stare at your own reflection.
Your new clothes do make you look local, but your eyes... your eyes are still a lost foreigner's eyes.
You stare at yourself for quite a long time.
People passing you whisper about you, perhaps praising your clothes, perhaps mocking how you stand, but you really don't hear what they actually say.
Their voices become meaningless bee buzzes.
You're isolated in your own self-made silent bubble.
Now, in your heart, a bitter truth unfolds.
For you, closeness feels scary.
Relationships feel like narrow spaces you can't control, a box where you're forced to be someone not yourself.
And this quest forces you into that box.
"What am I doing?" you think.
You finally return to reality when a shop attendant splashes water on the street, nearly wetting your shoes.
Now you tuck both hands into your cardigan pockets, squeezing the rough fabric inside. You choose to wander aimlessly, avoiding the main crowds.
"I always wonder… Is it okay for me to do this?"
Stalking. Seeking personal data. Manipulating meetings. Is this worth doing for survival? Is your life worth violating others' privacy?
Forget it, it's getting late.
Then you walk in a quiet place.
You've moved away from the harbor, toward a quieter residential area on the hill outskirts, where stone streets are flanked by white walls and bamboo trees.
No one here. Just wind rustling bamboo leaves.
The atmosphere silent. Peaceful.
You look up, staring at the sky. Its color beautiful—a blend of purple, pink, and gold.
Liyue's sky as if painted by an artist in love.
For a moment, you forget the mission, forget the death threat, forget your loneliness.
Then, that silence breaks.
Bruk!
Then you suddenly hear the sound of a child falling, followed by stifled sobbing.
"Hngg..."
You turn.
At the downhill road turn, a small child—perhaps five or six years old—fell while chasing his rattan ball. His knee hits hard stone.
You see he's injured; his knee skin scraped, fresh blood starting to seep out.
You approach him slowly.
Your steps hesitant, but sure.
You want to help. You have to help. It's the right thing to do, right?
The child stares at you with teary eyes, afraid of the approaching stranger.
Your mouth opens, your tongue numb but trying to form a calming sentence. About to say, "Are you okay?"
But before you can speak, before your voice comes out of your throat, the world around you changes.
The cold and sweet Qingxin flower scent suddenly wafts, sweeping away the street dust smell. A soft tinkling sound—like small bells blown by mountain wind—heard approaching quickly.
Someone's presence suddenly felt by you. Not a threatening presence like Millelith, but a soft presence, like the arrival of spring.
You turn, your movement stops midway.
A girl suddenly appears from the upstairs direction, as if she just descended from the clouds. She doesn't walk; she glides with light and quick steps, hurrying to the child, passing you as if you're just a stone statue on the roadside.
Time seems to slow as you see her.
The girl has a medium body type, but her posture radiates an inhuman grace. Her skin fair, as white as moonlit porcelain.
Her hair... oh, her hair is a flow of cerulean blue river curling softly midway down her back, grading to a darker, deeper color at the ends, like the sea deepening farther from shore.
But what freezes you is what's on her head. A pair of black horns with red tinges curving backward, resembling mystical ibex horns, adorning her head.
She kneels beside the child, back to you slightly, but you can see her face profile.
And her eyes... when she glances briefly to check the situation, you see a stunning pair of eyes. Those eyes show sectoral heterochromia—a gradient from mysterious purple at the top toward reddish young gold at the bottom, like sunrise meeting night.
She wears a black bodysuit elegantly wrapping her body, combined with a white and blue halterneck top resembling a decorative apron. Loose separate sleeves with ice blue gradient motifs cover her hands, while dark stockings adorned with gold ornaments wrap her legs.
And at her waist, tied a large red ribbon with small golden bells. Kling. The bells ring softly as she moves.
She doesn't notice, or perhaps doesn't care at all, about your presence frozen just two steps from her. Her focus entirely on the little child.
She extends her gloved hand, touching the child's shoulder with a gentleness that makes your heart vibrate strangely.
She says to the fallen child, her voice soft, calm, and with a soothing resonance like flowing water.
"Are you okay?"
…
A/N: Euh… sorry for making you wait. Maybe some of you (hoping there are readers who always wait) are waiting for the story to continue, but even after waiting one or two days, no chapter uploaded. Well, now I've uploaded it, so please enjoy! Anyway, Finally the first objective is completed! Today I intend to upload 1 more chapter. But if I suddenly get busy with IRL, I think I'll swallow those words back… that's very regrettable. Btw I'm looking forward to your comments!