As The Sun Gazes Upon The Moon [Zhongchili]

Chapter 11 - Decision

Zhongli leaves Childe to sleep off the aftereffects of his injuries and returns to Dottore's lab to assist with the clean up operation. While he wasn't the physical cause of the destruction, his careless slip to Childe of Dottore's desires—desires the Tsaritsa would never allow to come to fruition—contributed at least in part to Childe's romp through the laboratory. An unhappy Dottore is an inconvenience to the Tsaritsa, who has so far been an admirable host and an ally in Childe's recovery, and he owes it to her to assist where he is able.

Dottore grumbles and groans and tries to pry the reason for Childe's misdemeanour from Zhongli as he works, all the while offering little to the cleanup other than occasionally berating a staff member for returning his test tubes to the wrong cupboard or some other unforgivable transgression.

Zhongli mentions nothing of what Childe told him, the mysterious claw marks on his arms, nor the Abyssal taint crawling its way across Childe's skin.

Despite the numerous staff assigned to the task, the cleanup takes the greater part of the day, and it's at just after five in the evening that Zhongli can finally strip the sticky, latex gloves from his hands, rinse off the layers of sweat and grime that have accumulated on his palms, and slip his own gloves back on. The cool, smooth leather has never felt so wonderful, and he flexes his hands a couple of times before setting off back to the main body of the palace.

As he reaches the grand stairway, the Tsaritsa awaits, leaning over the bannister of the floor above with her fingers curled around the railing, her gaze set steadily on Zhongli.

"Good evening." Zhongli starts up the staircase, meeting her stare with every step. "Would I be correct to assume that you have been waiting for me?"

"Indeed. There has been much on my mind today and, as a result, decisions have been made."

A frigid spike pierces Zhongli's chest, as though the Tsaritsa had impaled him on a weapon of her own making. "What manner of decisions are we speaking of here?"

"Decisions that are better left to private discussion. Come." She turns on her heel and sweeps down the corridor, leaving Zhongli taking the stairs two at a time to catch up. Soon he is being led through the now too familiar door to the Tsaritsa's office, sitting in the too familiar chair in front of the too familiar fire.

The Tsaritsa neglects to sit and instead stands by the window, staring into the peach sky sunset, her hands clasped behind her back and her chin held with a regal tilt.

"Tartaglia," she says. "I have been thinking about him. And I have come to a decision."

Zhongli twists his hands in his lap. "And what would that decision be?"

The Tsaritsa sighs and does not look at him. "There are many decisions I have had to make in my lifetime, and in each I have prioritised the overall wellbeing of my children, offering no special allowance for personal favourites. However, repetition does not offer stillness to one's heart in the moment the infection must be pruned, and my heart weeps for what must be done."

What must be done. This can only mean one thing.

"Please, Your Majesty, this will devastate him. Might you not reconsider?"

"No, I cannot. All options have been carefully considered, and this is the optimal outcome, for both him and for Snezhnaya." She places a hand against the window, drawing a circle in the condensation, round and around and around. "You must understand, Tartaglia does not lie to me, and yet today, for the first time since his appointment as my Harbinger, he did. What am I supposed to make of this, do you think?"

Childe has lied to many in his time—about his identity, his true purpose in Liyue, his true purpose in bedding Zhongli—but there's been not a word from his mouth suggesting anything less than utmost loyalty for his Tsaritsa. If a lack or fizzling of loyalty can then be eliminated as the issue, it leaves a limited number of possibilities for Tartaglia's reasoning.