Wanmin Restaurant, back kitchen.
Xiangling propped her cheek on her palm and said nothing, letting Ji Ming eat in peace—quietly counting his eyelashes instead.
One… two… three… so many. It felt like she'd been counting them her whole life, only to start over every time.
Her gaze drifted down. Those striking eyes—she flinched away before they met hers—then the straight bridge of his nose… and finally the healthy red of his lips.
"Xiangling, aren't you eating?"
She jumped, eyes darting aside. Twirling a strand at the tip of her ear, she put on a casual tone.
"Um… Dad and I ate already. You keep eating."
A fib. Neither she nor Chef Mao had eaten. She just wanted to… observe him.
As a chef, she relished Ji Ming's shameless praise; every dish earned grand flattery.
As a childhood friend, it felt right to keep him company. They'd seen less of each other as they grew up.
Chef Mao watched from the counter with a wounded look, ready to say something—until his daughter glanced back with a silent threat. He shrugged and slipped out.
Ji Ming knew this little chef far too well. He smiled.
"I'm not a kid anymore, Xiangling. You don't have to fuss over me."
"Turn eighteen and you forget everything? To me, you're still a kid!"
She puffed her cheeks, then suddenly dimmed.
"When we were small, I didn't look after you well. You were gone for so long. When I found you again… you'd changed."
After Ji Ming's parents died, Xiangling didn't see him for a long time. He'd been eight; she, six. For a little girl, parting is strange—and cruel.
Two years later, they met again. He was different. Cynical, calculating—and he was only ten. No one knew what those two years had been like.
Ji Ming saw the shift and hurried to soothe her.
"It's not too late to look after me now. I'm willing to be looked after by Xiangling."
To prove it, he slurped down the rest of his noodles so fast he choked, coughing until Xiangling laughed again.
Past or not, life shouldn't get stuck in it. That was true for him—and for her.
There are partings, and there are reunions. He didn't believe their thread of fate was anywhere near spent.
So—enjoy the now.
Seeing her smile return, Ji Ming set his bowl aside and reached for his coin pouch to leave payment on the table, preparing to go.
But the pouch that clinked down wasn't his. It came from a youth whose baby face hadn't quite faded—clearly a foreigner.
"This gentleman's meal is on me. May I have a word with you?"
The first half was to Xiangling; the second, to Ji Ming.
No such thing as a free lunch; flattery without cause means a thief at the door. Ji Ming's guard shot up—more so when he noticed the Fatui mask motif and a Delusion sigil.
In the underworld, danger has grades. The worst in Liyue Harbor? The Fatui—lunatics who cared nothing for Liyue's laws and would kill as they pleased.
Xiangling drew breath to scold the intruder for barging into the kitchen. Ji Ming flashed her a look to stand down and pushed the pouch back.
He smiled with his mouth, not his eyes.
"Taking a free favor is bad value, sir. You end up owing people."
"No need to be so tense. I just want to chat with Mr. Ji Ming—and ask a few things about Liyue's little ways."
Already investigated me? Let's probe how deep this goes.
"If it's customs you want," Ji Ming said flatly, "turn left out the door to Feiyun Slope. Ask Wangsheng's guest consultant, Mr. Zhongli. He's the learned one."
"So Mr. Ji Ming doesn't trust me?" The youth smiled, unabashed. "Allow me. I'm Tartaglia—call me Childe if you like. A humble executive of the Fatui."
He plopped down beside Ji Ming, going for a friendly shoulder bump. Ji Ming knocked his arm away without a flicker.
The smile vanished from Ji Ming's face.
"Say it straight. What do you want?"
By his understanding, Fatui executives didn't show themselves to randos—and "Tartaglia" and "Childe" were obviously codenames.
A Fatui bigwig, personally walking into Liyue to speak to a small-timer like him? Nothing about this was wholesome.
Childe didn't mind. He clapped softly.
"If Mr. Ji Ming prefers candor—I'd like us to cooperate."
"You, or the Fatui?"
"Whichever you prefer. It's simple. I hear you're short on mora. Northland Bank can front bail for your sworn brothers."
He set a contract with Snezhnayan flourishes on the table and tapped it twice.
"Of course, you'd owe the Fatui a considerable sum—with interest."
Ji Ming didn't look down.
"And if I refuse?"
"Won't you even hear what kind of deal—"
"And if I refuse?"
He repeated it, eyes steady. Alone, he couldn't reject the Fatui—unless Liyue's authorities stepped in. Senior Ganyu wore the government's seal, but she was still of the adepti. Best not to drag them in if it could be helped.
By repeating himself, he wanted to see what value he had in their plan. Expendable cannon fodder?
If so, he would pretend to agree—then, if Liyue looked the other way, hide behind Cloud Retainer as a last resort.
If not, he had room to bargain—and maybe even use the Fatui to bail his brothers out.
Childe's interest finally sharpened. The Tsaritsa had given him orders; he'd done his homework and picked a local "tool" for intel.
The Old Nine Gates had once shaken Liyue's streets. Only one remained—but that alone proved Ji Ming's chops.
Cautious. Controlled. Knows when to advance and retreat. Too good for mere cannon fodder. Perhaps worth cultivating—perhaps useful for… larger ambitions.
"Mr. Ji Ming, you can refuse," Childe said lightly. "And I won't harm you. The Fatui keep our word."
Ji Ming thought, then picked up the contract embossed with the Fatui crest—without reading it yet.
"Besides bailing out my brothers… what else do I get?"
A flicker of surprise crossed Childe's eyes.
So he means to use the Fatui in reverse?
Well. As long as it didn't hurt Snezhnaya's interests, he didn't care what price others in the Fatui paid. Let the colleagues suffer the headache.
"If you agree, from today you may come and go freely at Northland Bank," he said. "You'll have the right to view all intel stored there—and withdraw mora at will."
Childe removed his mask and handed it over, as if it were nothing.
Ji Ming accepted the mask, then, without hesitation, signed the contract and offered his right hand.
"In that case—pleasure doing business."
"Pleasure doing business, Mr. Ji Ming."
He slid the contract back to Childe, then nudged the earlier coin pouch toward the doorway and called out to the waiting chef:
"Xiangling! I'm leaving the money here. I'll come chat when I've got time."
If the Fatui wanted to use Ji Ming, they'd better be ready for Ji Ming to shear them bald.
Advance Chapters available on Patreon
patreon.com/lucarioTL