Original God Zhongli BG Xiao Qinglong traveled through time

The morning light in Inazuma always carries a unique, refreshing quality, tempered by sea mist and crimson cherry blossoms. Passing through the thin Japanese paper window lattices of the Kamisato House, the light has lost its initial sharpness, becoming soft and gentle, quietly flowing into the room, illuminating the finest dust particles on the tatami mats, making them distinct, like tiny pieces of gold foil suspended in time.

Xingqiu sat alone in this silence.

On the low mahogany desk before him, the freshly ground ink in a She inkstone sat dark and still, like a night pool devoid of starlight. Scattered around him were countless discarded pieces of rice paper, densely covered in the characters "Xingqiu" (traveling autumn) in various poses, like a flock of inky butterflies trapped in a small space, struggling but unable to find a way out. Some strokes were jagged and withered from overexertion, while others seemed frivolous and timid due to restlessness.

The boy's fingertips were stained with ink, and even the azure cuffs of his sleeves were not spared, leaving a small, awkward gray-black smudge. His delicate brows were furrowed, and his amber pupils no longer held the lively energy he usually possessed when writing about chivalrous tales. Instead, they held a heavy anxiety that belied his age. The gentle thud of koi leaping in the pond outside the window and the faint sounds of people in the street became a disturbing cacophony.

He once again spread out a sheet of snow-white goose-skin paper and lifted his fine wolf-hair brush, "Lanzhu." The tip of the brush, saturated with thick ink, hovered an inch above the paper. His wrist, trembling slightly as if entangled by invisible threads, hesitated to lower the brush. The two characters "Zhenyu" now weighed a thousand pounds.

"Squeak-"

The sound of the door being gently pushed open broke the silence in the room.

Lin Huan walked in silently, carrying a plate of freshly steamed Japanese confectionery, emitting the sweet aroma of rice and red beans. Her gaze swept across the mess of paper crumpled on the floor, finally landing on Xingqiu's tense profile and the pen tip poised at the top of his head. She instantly understood.

"Our most elegant chivalrous novelist in Liyue Harbor," her voice was as clear as morning dew, and she held a faint smile. "When did your own name drive you to this point?"

Hearing the sound, Xingqiu's wrist twitched, and a drop of rich ink, unable to bear the weight, plummeted down, splattering across the snow-white paper in a massive, messy blob. He dropped his brush abruptly, as if scalded. Two smudges of ochre crimson quickly spread across his cheeks, the embarrassment of having been caught.

"Sister Huanhuan..." He said in a muffled voice, carrying the youthful air of unyielding yet helpless frustration. "I just... I just felt that since we're meeting friends here under the name 'Zhenyu', the name we sign should at least be... more worthy of the elegance of Rongcai Festival."

Lin Huan gently placed the dessert plate on the corner of the table, leaving the discarded manuscripts untouched. She sat down across from him, her skirt draped over her shoulders, her blue dress spreading out like ripples. She offered no words of comfort, but simply reached out her white fingers, picked up an elegant pink and white Japanese confectionery shaped like a falling cherry blossom, and held it out to him.

"Let's eat something first." Her tone was as casual as if she were discussing the weather. "When it comes to calligraphy, if your heart isn't flowing, your brushwork won't flow. Forced resemblance ultimately lacks soul."

Xingqiu accepted the snack, but had no desire to savor it. He looked up, a rare look of confusion and self-doubt in his eyes. "Mr. Albedo... is Mondstadt's foremost painter and scholar, and has seen the landscapes of Teyvat. My humble brushstrokes, in his eyes, are likely nothing more than a child's doodle..." He paused, his voice lowering. "Furthermore, he wants to use me as a model for 'Aoi-no-Gong'... Sister, according to legend, Aoi-no-Gong is an old man who has experienced many hardships and retired to the mountains. At my age, with my temperament, how can I possibly emulate even a fraction of his character? I'm afraid... I'm afraid I'll dishonor the sages and fail the expectations of Miss Kamisato and Mr. Albedo."

The more he spoke, the lower his head drooped. The dignity of the second son of Feiyun Chamber of Commerce and the composure of Teacher Zhenyu were all transformed into the fearful and innocent heart of a young man in front of something he truly respected.

Lin Huan listened quietly, her eyes warm. She looked at his ink-stained fingertips, at his anxiously pursed lips, and it was as if she saw herself hundreds of years ago, outside the abyss, secretly discouraged by her inability to perfectly control her newfound power.

At this moment, two restrained but clear knocks were heard outside the sliding door of the guesthouse.

"Brother Xingqiu, are you inside?"

It was the sound of the maple leaves, clear and gentle, like a stream flowing over white rocks in the mountains.

Xingqiu stood up hastily as if he had received a call for help. He frantically tried to kick the "evidence" on the floor onto the table to hide it, but he accidentally knocked over the brush washer. The clear water mixed with the ink, and a dark stain immediately spread across the tatami.

"oops!"

Seeing this, Lin Huan shook his head helplessly and chuckled. While signaling him to be patient, he said loudly, "Brother Wan Ye, please come in."

The sliding door swung open, and Wan Ye appeared in the doorway. He was still dressed in his convenient ronin's attire, his hair white as snow, and his red collar accentuated his handsome features. His eyes first met Lin Huan's, and they nodded in greeting. Then, his gaze naturally swept over the mess inside the room, and Xingqiu's ink-stained fingers and flushed cheeks.

A faint glint of understanding flashed across Wan Ye's eyes, but there was no trace of mockery. He walked calmly into the room, seemingly oblivious to the mess, and simply placed a small bamboo food box on the table.

"I passed by the market this morning and saw some freshly caught taiyaki being sold. I thought Brother Xingqiu might like sweet flavors from outside of Liyue, so I rashly brought some over." He spoke gently, cleverly avoiding Xingqiu's predicament and steering the conversation elsewhere.

Xingqiu glanced at him gratefully and said hesitantly, "Thank you for your concern, Brother Wanye."

Wan Ye smiled faintly, his eyes glancing over the ink-stained rice paper on the desk and the piles of practice drafts beside it. He suddenly spoke, his voice not loud, but clearly reaching Xingqiu's ears:

"The essence of calligraphy lies in spirit, not form. I once saw a line in an ancient scroll: 'Those who imitate me will live, those who imitate me will die.' The reason Mr. Zhenyu's characters leap off the page and captivate readers is probably not because they are identical to the ancient people recorded in history books, but because he has infused their souls with his own chivalrous spirit and sincerity."

He paused and looked at Xingqiu. His lake-blue eyes held a clarity and calmness that came from having weathered a storm.

"I think the spirit of 'Kui Zhiweng' may not lie in his aged appearance or his reclusive demeanor. His poem, 'My life is threatened, yet I remain strong, hiding the remaining manuscript in my arms,' is truly moving because, even in this cage, he remains determined to protect what he holds dear." His voice was steady and powerful. "What does this obsession with 'protection' have to do with age? Mr. Zhenyu's defense of justice and righteousness in his books, and Kui Zhiweng's protection of his hard work in poetry and prose in real life, perhaps share a common core."

These words, like a wake-up call, dispelled the heavy fog in Xingqiu's heart.

He stood there, stunned, gazing at Manye's serene face, then looking down at his ink-stained fingers. A thunderclap, yet also a gentle spring breeze, erupted in his mind. He had always been obsessed with "resemblance," pursuing superficial details, but had forgotten to question his inner heart—why did he write? What did he wish to protect?

Yes, character lies in spirit, not in age.

What Mr. Albedo wanted to depict was not just an old, superficial shell, but a light of perseverance that transcends time and space and still resonates between souls.

With the knot untied, the stagnant anxiety receded like a tide. Xingqiu breathed a long, genuine sigh of relief, his tense shoulders relaxing. When he looked at the pile of discarded manuscripts on the floor, the previous irritation was gone from his eyes, replaced by a hint of self-mockery and relief.

"Brother Wanye...what you said is really..." He shook his head, and a smile finally returned to his face. Although it was a little embarrassed, it regained its former clarity. "It is better than ten days of hard thinking on my own."

Seeing him like this, Wan Ye smiled faintly. He took out an object carefully wrapped in soft cloth from his bosom and slowly unwrapped it.

It was a Shoushan stone seal forged using Inazuma's unique "shadow-beating" technique. The stone was smooth and warm, with a simple flowing cloud pattern carved on the top. He handed the seal to Xingqiu.

"My trip was rushed, so I haven't prepared any generous gifts. The stone of this seal is of decent quality. I had nothing else to do last night, so I carved the characters 'Pillow Jade' in the style of Liyue seal carving." Wan Ye's tone remained calm. "If Brother Xingqiu doesn't mind, you might use it. I've also engraved a short poem on the side to help with the fun."

Xingqiu solemnly took it with both hands and examined it carefully. On the seal, the characters "Zhen Yu" were carved with a chisel, the lines sharp and upright. It possessed the ancient and profound style of Liyue seal carving, while also hinting at the sharpness and elegance of Inazuma's swordsmanship. He flipped the seal stone over and saw a series of small characters in cursive script on the edge:

"Literature is a matter of eternity; the gains and losses are known only to the heart."

A warm feeling instantly surged through Xingqiu's heart. This seal not only solved his "signature" dilemma but also served as confirmation of his recent epiphany, a weighty token of recognition and understanding from a foreign friend.

"Brother Wanye..." He raised his head, his eyes gleaming with emotion, joy, and the excitement of a man seeking a close friend. "This gift is so precious. Xingqiu... I'm unworthy of it!"

Lin Huan watched it all unfold. A gentle, understanding smile played on her lips as she watched Xingqiu's transition from anxiety and distress to enlightenment and finally his current excitement. She picked up the teapot and poured each of the two young men a cup of freshly brewed, still-warm Yulu tea.

The lingering aroma of tea, interwoven with the sweet fragrance of dim sum, the faint burnt aroma of taiyaki in the bamboo box, and the lingering scent of ink in the air, filled the room.

Outside the window, the morning light grew brighter, the shimmering water of the courtyard pond reflected the newly blossomed water lilies. Occasionally, a bird flew by, leaving behind a string of clear chirps.

Xingqiu clutched the seal, still warm from Manye's body, and felt the weight of his heart melt away. A surge of confidence and clear inspiration surged from within. He gazed out the window at the sunlit Inazuma sky, and his eyes rekindled the confident, bright glow that belonged to "Pillow Jade."