date
originally published 1 february 2025.
When it comes to the Anemo Archon, Xiao tries not to track the dates.
For one thing, it’s confusing: Mondstadt’s calendar is different from the one used in Liyue, and Xiao cannot be bothered to calculate when some happening occurred when he cannot even rely on the shape of the moon and the taste of the air to remind him when it falls.
The years are too short for an adeptus such as himself to pay notice, anyway. Many times, he feels he has only just managed to catch his breath after cleansing the land for Lantern Rite before the wretched nian monster rears its face anew.
But truthfully, Xiao knows that, deep down, these are both excuses. He knows that the ache in his chest each month spring comes into full bloom is not some stubborn remnant of the Rite, nor are the faint tingles upon his lips each time he watches an autumn bride toss her embroidered ball signs he hungers for mere mooncakes.
It’s lonely to remember, each Adeptus in Liyue so intimately knows. To ache in places that will never be touched again; to yearn in a way none else left in the world will understand.
And yet, they do it anyway, each and every one of them: year after year, month after month, day after day, hour after hour.
(To do otherwise— to forget— is simply far too painful, far too real an alternative.)
Xiao tries not to let it bother him when his heart starts whispering to him about the date, and he finds he cannot place what precisely gives it weight. It must be something personal, for if any Adeptus thought it important, then there would be mortals who believed so, too; yet, to the humans all around him, it is a day like any other.
After several minutes wasted drawing nothing but a blank, Xiao pushes the entire thought away. He can’t afford distractions as he goes about his day.
It’s only when he chances a glance at the sunset over Stone Gate after some time goes by that it hits him like the winter water as it falls past Wuwang Hill: that was the day when Venti last came to visit, before he promptly fell asleep several hundred years ago.
“Oh,” Xiao mumbles, barely even a breath. He finds he cannot take his eyes away from the fading sunset sky; the dull longing in his throat seems to grow new thorns.
I miss him.
The wind which cards through Xiao’s unruly hair is lacking in Venti’s Mondstadtian sweetness, and Xiao hopes his dearest love has not truly died.
You could just visit him, his teeth remind him. Find his dreams, pull him away… have a chat, have a taste—
Xiao banishes that train of thought with fresh blood upon his bitten tongue.
“Long time no see,” sings the breeze some human lifetimes later.
Xiao startles at how suddenly a pair of delicate hands fold over his eyes, blushes at how closely Venti’s warm, human form manifests behind him.
“Venti…” Xiao begins, not wanting to pull away from Venti’s soft touch himself.
Venti laughs and drops his hands in exchange for a hug, throwing his entire wispy weight onto Xiao’s back. “You never change~” he teases, with the palest thread of relief woven into his tone.
Xiao sighs, unwilling to admit how swiftly Venti’s chin on his shoulder puts him at ease. “I have no reason to,” he replies, and he puts away his spear.
Venti nuzzles fondly against the crook of Xiao’s neck. “I missed you,” he murmurs, and Xiao can feel his softest breath brush against his collarbone. “I wish I could have seen you in my dreams.”
Xiao turns his face away. “I’m sorry,” he says. Some part of him hopes that Venti will chastise him harshly for it, but the bard does naught but sigh.
“It’s all right,” he reassures Xiao. “We can simply make a date out of it next time.”