Original God Zhongli BG Xiao Qinglong traveled through time

Poems and first images on canvas carried by the wind

The afternoon in Inazuma City was bathed in a lazy, warm light. After settling Albedo and Klee, the group continued out, strolling through the bustling streets. The air was filled with the charred aroma of fried skewers and the sweet, candied violet melon, intertwined with the faint clanging of metal from the distant swordsmiths, creating a vivid and vibrant scene of the city.

Klee's attention was quickly drawn to a small stall filled with a variety of violet candies. The crystal-clear treats shimmered in the sunlight, creating a dreamy sheen. Paimon immediately volunteered to serve as "Chief Snack Inspector" and temporary caretaker, flitting excitedly between Klee and the stall, his face etched with the promise of "I have to try this!" Ying stood by, watching them, a relaxed, indulgent smile playing on her lips. The fatigue of days of travel seemed to be quietly soothed by this pure joy.

Up ahead, Xingqiu and Albedo walked side by side. Xingqiu was consulting the Mondstadt artist about the expression of light, shadow, and artistic conception in a passage about Liyue's Lonely Cloud Pavilion in "Shenqiu Shijianlu." Albedo walked calmly, his blond hair glistening like molten gold in the sunlight. He listened attentively, occasionally nodding, his words refined yet always to the point, his lake-green eyes gleaming with reason.

"Teacher Bai Ke's words are truly enlightening." Xingqiu's eyes lit up. The slight awkwardness he had felt upon meeting everyone had vanished, replaced by the excitement of meeting a kindred spirit. He waved his folding fan, his clothes flowing freely. "Deconstructing the artistic conception of mountains and rivers through the lens of alchemical 'transmutation' is truly unprecedented and brilliant!"

Lin Huan and Wendy lagged slightly behind, each seeming to occupy a world of their own. Wendy was filled with childlike curiosity about everything around her, occasionally pausing to listen to the street performer's shamisen, or occasionally plucking a few impromptu strings at the tinkling wind chimes beneath the eaves, humming a tuneless, yet unexpectedly fitting, verse. Lin Huan, with a light step and a simple, elegant blue shirt, followed quietly, his gaze softly sweeping across the exotic streetscape. Only the turquoise-blue hair of the tevarin, curled into a bun at his temples, was captured in the shifting light and shadow, a subtle, unadorned glow flickering across his scales.

"Come to think of it," Wendy suddenly stopped beneath a lush, ancient thunder cherry tree, looked up, and let the dappled light filtering through the leaves fall on his smiling face, "the wind of Inazuma seems to be particularly kind to poets."

He closed his eyes, his thick eyelashes cast a small fan-shaped shadow under his eyes, and there was a mysterious smile at the corner of his lips, which almost resonated with the wind.

As if in response to his words, a slightly stronger sea breeze blew through the street, picking up scattered crimson cherry blossom petals on the ground, forming a small pink swirl. The wind ruffled Lin Huan's hair and the wide sleeves of her blue shirt, and also caused Tevarin at her temples to stir restlessly, burying the tiny dragon head deeper into her warm hair, seeking shelter.

At the moment the wind blew, a slightly old piece of paper with yellowed and curled edges, as if carefully guided by an invisible hand, spun gracefully in the air, and landed lightly on Wendy's already open palm with thin calluses.

"Oh?" Wendy opened his eyes at the perfect moment, a mixture of surprise and amusement shimmering in his emerald pupils. He carefully grasped the paper between his fingertips, as if handling a fragile treasure. His gaze swept over the ink, and his clear voice began to flow, carrying the storytelling rhythmic feel of a bard:

"My thatched hut is far from the world, but fame and fame are the clamor of the world. Green clothes and colorful scrolls ascend to the heavens, and the manuscripts of poems are left on the pages..."

His voice wasn't loud, but it held a strange, magical power, drawing Xingqiu and Albedo, who were discussing something passionately, to the table. Even Klee and Paimon, who were gathered around the candy stand, peered in curiously.

"...I only seek to appease the wrath of the Emperor, pounding my head with rage as I recall his hasty words. Last night I was drunk in the wine shop, and my shadow wandered around me as I slept. It must have been a traitor who stole the poem, leaving me completely disgraced in the Imperial Hall."

After the poem was finished, the air froze for a moment, as if time had stood still. Only the hustle and bustle of the street could be heard faintly in the background.

Paimon was the first to fly over, scratching his head with his little hand, his face full of confusion and sympathy. "It sounds like... this poet named 'Cui Guang' is so unlucky! He got drunk, someone stole a page of his poetry, and he made a fool of himself in front of the general... What will he do in the future?"

Xingqiu slammed his folding fan shut and tapped his palm lightly with the fan rib. A hint of appreciation and sighing condensed between his handsome brows: "'Green clothes and colorful scrolls ascend the castle tower'... Since this person could ascend the castle tower and present poems, he must have been a famous talent at that time. It's a pity that he made a mistake or was plotted against, and ended up in such a situation. The fate of the world is indeed impermanent." His words were filled with the emotion of sympathy between scholars.

Albedo's gaze remained fixed on the page in Wendy's hands. As a painter and alchemist, he possessed an almost instinctive sensitivity to objects that carried time and stories. "The brittle texture of the paper, the depth of the ink's penetration and the degree of oxidation... this isn't a recent imitation," he reasoned calmly, his tone even. Then, looking up at Wendy, a trace of inquiry flickered through the depths of his lake-green eyes. "Mr. Bard, it seems you always stumble upon these... narratively captivating 'accidents'."

Hearing this, Wendy's smile grew even brighter, as if all the sunshine in Mondstadt was in his eyes. He flicked the paper lightly, making a subtle "snap" sound, his tone as casual as if he were discussing the weather. "Perhaps the free wind gave me inspiration! Don't you think so?" His fingertips smoothly traced the strings, and a melody flowed out, with a hint of helplessness, a touch of self-deprecation, yet strangely light and humorous. "With a slight adaptation, wouldn't Mr. Cuiguang's story be a superb narrative ballad, one that would bring a smile to the ears and a sense of emotion?"

Lin Huan stood quietly beneath the tree, the shadows and specks of light from the crimson cherry blossoms intertwining across her beautiful face. Her gaze passed faintly over Wendy's seemingly flawless smile, brimming with pure joy, then flickered past Albedo's lake-green eyes, as still as a deep pool, yet perceptive enough to grasp the subtlest details. Finally, she settled on Xingqiu's profile, which had become particularly vivid from his immersion in literary criticism. The corners of her lips curved into a subtle, understanding arc, but she said nothing.

Tevarin seemed to have finally relaxed his tense nerves beside her temples. His delicate dragon tail unconsciously brushed across the sensitive skin on the side of her neck, bringing a slightly cool and soft itch, which deepened the smile in her eyes.

"It seems," she finally whispered, her voice as clear and gentle as a spring stream washing over round pebbles, instantly capturing everyone's attention, "the Rongcai Festival hasn't even officially begun, and we've already received an invitation from the past, brought by the 'wind.'"

She tilted her head slightly, her gaze seeming to penetrate the street scene before her, gazing into a distant time and space. "The story of the Five Song Fairies seems more complex and profound than we imagined, and... more worthy of careful exploration."

Albedo gazed at her and nodded slowly. He didn't question why the wind had carried the poem to this particular bard, nor did he delve into the source of the transcendental clarity and calmness in Lin Huan's words. He simply cast his gaze back at the poem page, silently engraving the handwriting, the rhythm, and the sense of embarrassment and helplessness that transcended time and space into the memory palace of his artist and scholar.

He clearly sensed that the group of people before him—the young master of the Liyue family, the mysterious bard, the woman in green as quiet as ancient jade, the knowledgeable traveler and her lively companion, and the Spark Knight who always brought unexpected surprises—the indescribable, warm and strong bond flowing between them, as well as the tacit understanding between them, was itself like a dynamic, unique painting slowly unfolding before his eyes, full of endless stories and vitality.

This unexpected poem "Green Light" is just like the background color chosen by the painter when he put down the first stroke. It seems accidental, but it sets the tone of the entire masterpiece that is about to be completed, which is a mixture of historical weight and human warmth.

"Let's go." Ying called out to everyone at the right time, breaking the moment of contemplation. "The Yuanguo Supervisory Office is just ahead. We still need to go through some necessary procedures."

Everyone joined the crowd again, moving forward. Wendy carefully folded the page, carrying centuries of sorrow and joy, and solemnly placed it close to his heart, as if he had received a unique treasure gifted by the wind. He took a few quick steps and effortlessly joined Xingqiu and Albedo in their discussion ahead about the rhythms of poetry and the evolution of music in the Seven Kingdoms. His witty remarks and insightful insights quickly livened up the atmosphere.

However, no one noticed that at the moment he turned around and merged into the crowd, he quickly exchanged a glance with Lin Huan, who was half a step behind him, which was so brief that it was almost non-existent.

There was no surprise at "accident" in his eyes, only an unspoken understanding that had penetrated deep into the bones and settled down after a long time and countless times of standing side by side.

What the wind brings is never accidental.

That was the prologue that had already been written.

And they are all actors who are about to appear on this grand stage called "Rongcai Festival".