The dusk was thick and heavy, the fading sunlight pouring down in dusky amber.
Second floor of Wangsheng Funeral Parlor.
Zhongli sat at the desk. The candle flame swayed gently, the lanterns growing dim and sparse, obscuring the expression on his face.
Your Name, spread open on the desk, had been turned to its final page.
Tachibana Taki had given everything he had — and in the end, he had saved Miyamizu Mitsuha. The two of them had met at last, on that staircase.
"..."
After a long silence, Zhongli let out a slow, drawn-out sigh. He closed the book and set it on the antique shelf, placing it beside Sword and Fairy.
Then he rose and walked out of Wangsheng Funeral Parlor.
At that moment, Hu Tao was sitting out front, holding Your Name in both hands, reading it with careful attention. Sanmi was playing with a cat toy at her feet.
Hearing the female undertaker greet Zhongli, Hu Tao looked up. She took in Zhongli's composed, unchanged expression, and smiled.
"Zhongli, where are you off to?"
"Just going for a walk," Zhongli said.
"Is that so? Enjoy yourself then." Hu Tao smiled. "Oh, right — have you finished Fang Qiu's book?"
"Mm. I have," Zhongli said, giving a small nod.
"Can you share your thoughts?" Hu Tao blinked, her pretty face curved in a smile as she asked.
"Without question, it is an excellent work," Zhongli said, pausing briefly to consider. "Both in narrative structure and character development, it stands among the finest. The premise is inventive, and the ending — where the two, even having forgotten everything, can still recognize each other at a single glance — lends the entire story a remarkable depth."
After speaking to its strengths, he offered a few words of suggestion as well.
"I see. I'll make note of that." Hu Tao nodded, then smiled and gave a little wave. "Well then, go enjoy your walk."
"And you, Director — enjoy your leisure," Zhongli replied with a nod. He turned and made his way toward Feiyun Slope.
The female undertaker, who had witnessed the whole exchange, stood there in mild bewilderment.
One of them was heading off for a leisurely stroll. The other was sitting in front of Wangsheng Funeral Parlor reading a book. And yet they had both told each other to stay busy.
...Busy doing what, exactly?
Busy strolling and reading?
That was a very full schedule.
"Do you feel like Zhongli's silhouette looks a little different today?" Hu Tao murmured, watching Zhongli's retreating figure grow smaller in the distance. She narrowed her eyes slightly, head tilted.
"Different? Does it?" the female undertaker asked, puzzled.
She couldn't see anything particularly changed about Mr. Zhongli. Besides, as far as she knew, he had been in his room reading Fang Qiu's Your Name — and Your Name had a happy ending. What kind of change could reading Your Name have brought about in him?
Surely he hadn't developed a sudden longing for romance?
Hmm... Well, Mr. Zhongli was learned well beyond most scholars — his manner was calm and unhurried, far older than his years — but he was still a young man. Still of an age when one was meant to start a family.
Thinking of it that way, it actually wasn't impossible that Mr. Zhongli might...
"He does," Hu Tao said, giving a small nod.
His silhouette, there in the fading dusk, looked somehow... lonely.
—
Zhongli walked the streets of Feiyun Slope. The road was lively and bustling, and without quite realizing it, he had drifted all the way to Wanwen Bookhouse.
A soft, meandering breeze drifted past, sending the sparse dust on the ground swirling lazily.
"It has been quite some time since I last had a drink," Zhongli murmured to himself.
He glanced at the taverns on either side of the street and picked one at random.
The interior was tastefully decorated — more like a teahouse than a tavern, if anything. Zhongli stepped inside and chose a quiet seat by the window.
"Welcome, sir. What can I get for you?"
The proprietress — a woman of refined bearing, dressed in a purple cheongsam — approached and asked.
"What do you have?" Zhongli said, his tone mild and unhurried.
"We carry wines from Mondstadt, our own Liyue selections, and sake from Inazuma. Here is the menu — it lists our drinks as well as some bar snacks to go along with them. Please take a look."
The proprietress offered a small smile and set the menu in front of him.
"Do you have any recommendations?" Zhongli asked after a brief glance, his voice quiet.
"Which country's wines are you asking about, sir?" the proprietress said, momentarily caught off guard.
"All of them," Zhongli replied.
"All of them?" The proprietress picked up the menu and looked it over carefully. "For Mondstadt, I'd say dandelion wine, apple cider, and grape wine are the three with the finest flavors. From Inazuma, there's sake. And from our own Liyue, we have daughter's red, bamboo-leaf green, and crimson plum blossom wine. Which would you prefer, sir?"
"Bring one of each," Zhongli said, unhurried.
"One of each?" The proprietress went still for a moment.
"Mm." Zhongli nodded, then paused and added, "And a serving of osmanthus wine as well."
"Sir, each serving is quite generous. Are you sure you wouldn't rather order them one at a time — finish one before the next arrives?"
The proprietress hesitated, then asked.
"No need," Zhongli said, shaking his head.
"Very well."
The proprietress returned shortly with a procession of wine vessels. The vessels from each country were distinct in design — one glance was enough to tell them apart. She introduced each one to Zhongli in turn, then quietly withdrew.
Zhongli poured himself a cup of osmanthus wine. He lifted it and drank it in a single swallow.
Behind the still surface of his eyes, a faint ripple stirred — and then it stilled again, as if it had never been.
"As expected. It no longer tastes the way it once did," he murmured to himself.
He gazed down at the remaining osmanthus wine in the cup. The amber liquid caught the swaying lamplight, trembling with each flicker.
Just as he was about to pour another, a voice spoke up.
"Excuse me — is this seat taken?"
Zhongli looked up. A young man, perhaps twenty-six years old, stood before him. His complexion was ashen, his eyes rimmed red — he had clearly been crying. In his hands, he held a copy of Your Name.
He was asking about the seat directly across from Zhongli.
"Please, go ahead," Zhongli said with a nod, saying nothing more.
"Thank you." The young man gave a quiet nod and sat down.
He ordered osmanthus wine.
Once the proprietress had brought the drinks, the young man fell entirely silent. He simply drank — steadily, without a word. At the moments when the wine moved something in him, a lone tear would slip silently down his cheek.
He didn't wipe them away. He let them run to the corner of his lips and swallowed them down along with the wine.
Cup after cup.
The young man never paused — just the same repeated motion, pouring and drinking, pouring and drinking.
Zhongli drank quietly across from him.
At last, the young man's head grew heavy with drink. He slumped forward with a dull thud, collapsing onto the table.
Zhongli continued to drink in silence.
Then — in a broken, barely coherent murmur — the young man began to speak through his stupor.
"Xiao Lan... I'm sorry. I couldn't save you. I couldn't do anything... I'm sorry."
The words came out slurred and fragmented. The tears wouldn't stop. His fingers were locked tight around the cover of Your Name.
Hearing those words, a ripple moved through Zhongli's eyes.
After a long, long silence, it dissolved into a single quiet sigh.
"I wished to buy osmanthus blossoms and sail with wine... but alas, old friends... when shall we meet again..."
Zhongli breathed the words softly, like a lament carried away on the wind.
Then he poured himself another cup and drank it down.
He said nothing more.
____
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